


Painted Powder Keg

by Okuz



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Zhao (Avatar), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Consensual Sex, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family Drama, Imperialism, Knotting, M/M, Marital Drama, Mating Cycles/In Heat, No Sozin's comet because I don't want to deal with it, No Underage Sex, Omega Zuko (Avatar), Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Physical Abuse, Plot With Porn, Rape/Non-con Elements, Zuko does not have his scar... yet, Zuko is aged up and Zhao is aged down but the gap is there, so so much plot, yes all three
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 23
Words: 151,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26549557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okuz/pseuds/Okuz
Summary: In one short month, Zuko’s life changes irrevocably: two family members die, another disappears, and he is classed as an omega. Grasping for a sense of stability and for his father’s approval, he dives headlong into an engagement with Zhao, a naval officer with ties to an important noble family. Zuko's been told this marriage is vital to the unity of the Fire Nation, but whether Zhao cares about anything other than his own ambitions remains to be seen.
Relationships: Azula & Iroh (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Zhao/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 291
Kudos: 569
Collections: A:tla





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things before we start:  
> 1\. There will be no underage sex in this fic.  
> 2\. That being said, a hell of a lot of other Bad Stuff will happen. Take heed of tags, they will be updated.  
> 3\. I've been writing this fic for months... like as of writing this note, I'm working on chapter 15. But I still want to release it slowly in increments, to give me time to go back to earlier chapters and make big plot edits before publishing

The most trusted method of identifying a child’s second sex was patience. Every omega would have their first heat, and every alpha would have their rut. If not for the fact that the third sex - beta - never had either, it would simply be a waiting game. But when the matter of inheritance and lineage is on the line, it rarely feels that we have years to waste waiting. Luckily, for centuries the more impatient parents of the four nations had been devising their own methods for identifying a child’s second sex.

In the Southern Water Tribe, they would bathe the child in puffin-seal fats, then make them stand downstream of a cold wind. Whatever shape the fats took when they froze could be used to predict the child’s second sex. 

Meanwhile, in balmy jungles farther north, the sun warriors used math: if the mother’s year of birth added to the child’s year of birth produced an even number, it would be an omega; an odd number was an alpha; but any prime number would be a beta, regardless of whether it was even or odd. 

And it’s said that in Omashu, they would hold the child upside down by their ankles for ten minutes - an unorthodox method, to be sure, but if the child passed out, they were an omega; if they stayed awake, but were unable to stand afterwards, they were a beta; and if they stood steadily on their own two feet, they were an alpha. (Although parents were warned to take note of how red their child’s face was - for a particularly resilient beta could often bring themselves to stand, but would be beet red for some time afterward.)

These were all, of course, superstitions. Ozai didn’t intend to trust the identification of his children’s status on the whims of ancient wise women looking to get a laugh and a yuan out of gullible townsfolk. There were doctors who claimed to be able to divine a child’s second sex with a thorough examination, and Ozai, who had coaxed his father into embracing the technological advancements of war, also planned to embrace scientific advancements regarding sex and status. If Azula and Zuko were to enter their teenage years without presenting, Ozai would simply call upon a doctor who could put an end to the conversation once and for all. Ozai hadn’t claimed Avatar Roku’s only descendant as his mate because he wanted to be cursed with two sterile, beta children, and if that was the case, he needed to be able to plan for his legacy. 

Years ago when he devised this plan, Ozai had been foolish enough to share it with his older brother. He would not usually broach the subject of status with Iroh, but the birth of Azula had filled him with a deep sense of foreboding. In a moment of weakness, he had confessed to his plan.

“You don’t need a fancy doctor to tell you all that,” Iroh had chuckled. “You just need a little ginseng, a copper pot, and-”

“Do not speak another word of your folksy drivel,” Ozai interrupted. “We will bring a doctor to examine the children, and that is final.” He punctuated this point by setting his cup of tea down none too gently. Ursa shot him a look for this indiscretion, but as with most of her moods, he ignored it. 

“I don’t see the need for a rush. These things happen in their own time.” Iroh scratched his beard, chuckling. “I seem to remember a young man whose status didn’t become apparent until… how old were you, Ozai? Seventeen?”

“Sixteen,” he hissed, scowling at his older brother. 

Ursa gave a quick, light laugh. “I had no idea you were such a late-bloomer, Ozai. I think I finally understand your anxiety around the matter.” The glare he shot her was so poisonous, the playful smile died on her lips immediately. 

“There is no need to worry, Ozai. Our family has a tendency towards strapping, alpha boys.” Iroh beat his chest when he said this, and laughed at his own whimsy. “And even if Zuko and the new baby are no such alphas, it wouldn’t be such a tragedy. Betas hold all sorts of positions in power now. We live in a new era, and we don’t need to rely on the old ways.”

“That’s all well and good, Iroh, but it doesn’t ensure I’ll have a legacy to leave behind.” Irate, Ozai stood and stalked to the window, avoiding his wife and his brother’s judgemental looks. “If Zuko could not produce an heir…”

Iroh snorted. “He’s _not_ producing any heirs. He’s two years old.”

“...And neither of our children are next in line to be the Fire Lord. So heirs are beside the point.” Ursa looked beseechingly at Iroh, as if to ask, _Do you hear this treachery, in your brother’s voice? Why am_ I _the one pointing this out?_

“You say I should have no heirs, as if my individual legacy means nothing to you.” Despite the rage he felt, Ozai didn’t spare his wife a glance. Instead he looked out upon the courtyard, beyond to the roofs of houses and city proper. In his mind’s eye, he could see the entire Fire Nation laid out before him. His domain. His birthright. “If neither child’s status is satisfactory, we will need to try again.”

How frankly royalty talked, behind closed doors, and how openly husband and wife fixed one another with bitter eyes. 

Iroh stood. “I am weary of having to listen to my brother speak of his children like chattel, so I’ll be going now. My ship disembarks at dawn. Wish me good luck, Ozai.” Ozai gave a dismissive wave, but said nothing more.

* * *

Years after three adults discussed the fate of children barely old enough to teethe, a sixteen year-old Zuko watched his mother cry. He was still at an age where watching a parent cry was an unnerving experience, especially in circumstances like this. She wasn’t wiping a stray tear from her eye as she sat in the drawing room with some novel, or with her family in the audience of a tragic Ember Island romance; she was openly sobbing in the middle of the courtyard, amongst guards and servants, spectators, because a messenger had just told them that Lu Ten was dead.

“How awful,” she kept saying. “Oh, poor, poor Iroh.”

_Poor Lu Ten_ , Zuko thought. He remembered his cousin in gentle bouts of rough-housing, in sympathetic ruffles of the hair, keeping him and his sister company when their parents were in another room, talking about whatever mysterious things adults discussed out of the earshot of children. 

Even as a teenager, Lu Ten had been a master firebender - he excelled not only in combat, but the sort of illusions usually reserved for street-performers, much beneath the purview of a crown prince, but enchanting to his little cousins nonetheless. Zuko remembered Lu Ten conjuring a bird made of fire - nothing as ostentatious as a phoenix, but a little bird, what was it? a finch? - and seeing Azula’s eyes go huge. “Show me!” she demanded. “Show me how, Lu Ten!” And she reached out with small, chubby toddler’s hands.

“Don’t touch, Azula!” The bird disappeared in a wisp of smoke. His sister began to tear up, and Lu Ten knelt down to comfort her. Zuko remembered how Lu Ten’s gentle voice warned them that for all its beauty, fire could do them irrevocable harm. “But if you work hard at your bending, someday I’ll show you how to conjure a bird all by yourself,” he said, with a wink. But he had never shown them, and now he never would.

Zuko wanted to ask Azula if she remembered the fire bird, but before he could speak, she turned away with her arms crossed and her jaw rigid. “Now Uncle Iroh has no heir,” she said, almost under her breath. Azula said almost everything in a shout, so it was a little impressive to hear her speak so softly now. “And his mate is dead, besides. If he becomes the Fire Lord, it will just be a dead end. Grandfather should just stop delaying the inevitable and make Father the heir in Iroh’s place.”

“Azula!” Ursa snatched her daughter by the elbow and shouted, eyes red with tears, “How dare you speak of your uncle that way, when he’s just suffered a great and terrible loss!”

“Everyone else is thinking it,” Azula argued. “Why don’t you want your own husband to take the throne?”

“What you’re saying is _treason_ ,” Ursa cried, and Zuko was again aware of the fact that they weren’t alone. The guards and servants were respectfully avoiding eye contact, but they heard this outburst. They would undoubtedly talk amongst themselves, and news could easily make its way back to the Fire Lord.

Azula’s face twisted. “You always punish me for praising Father. He’s your own husband and you hate him! You’re a terrible wife and a terrible mother!”

Zuko watched in horror as his gentle mother smacked Azula across the face. He was too shocked to say anything, but in the horrified silence that followed, he wondered why Azula let her do that. He had seen Azula fight, and knew there was no end to her cruelty - why wouldn’t she simply burn her way out of their mother’s grasp? And then the answer revealed itself, an imperious voice calling out to them from the Lesser Hall.

“Ursa!” Ozai thundered. “Unhand Azula, immediately!”

Ozai was standing just a few feet away, cloaked in the shadows of the awning. Zuko couldn’t see his father’s expression, but he knew from his tone of voice that it could not be good. Their mother let Azula go, although more out of shock at seeing Ozai than anything. Azula gave a momentary, gleeful smile before putting on a dramatic pouting face and rubbing her cheek.

Their father stalked across the garden towards them, and as the sunlight hit his face Zuko could see every handsome angle was rigid with anger. He turned to the servants and guards gathered and snarled, “Get out of here! If I hear that a single one of you spoke of this incident, I will have you hung over the battlements!”

Everyone scattered, leaving the family of four to sort out their issues alone. Azula crept out of Ozai’s path to stand with Zuko, still pouting and rubbing her face. 

Ursa’s expression was fearful. “Ozai, you have to understand. Azula was saying the most terrible things about your brother. Lu Ten has died-”

“I don’t care if Iroh himself is dead,” Ozai snarled. “You will not make a fool of yourself and of _me_ in front of the help!”

Zuko was terrified his father would strike his mother, but instead he grabbed her roughly by the arm and leaned close. “You will not lay a hand on my daughter again. Do you understand?”

Ursa nodded, lips pursed to keep her composure. After one long, tense silence, Ozai let her go.

“Make yourself presentable. The doctor is going to be here in half an hour, and we all need to behave in a manner befitting royalty. I will not have some stranger privy to our family’s shame.” With that, Ozai stalked back towards the house. Ursa stood, trembling, before heading for a different entrance a good distance away.

Beside Zuko, Azula was still rubbing her cheek, but her expression was an incongruous one of pure bliss. Zuko scowled at her. “Mother hit you on the left.”

“Oh. Whoops.” Azula switched sides. It only angered him more.

“You shouldn’t have made Mother angry!”

“She shouldn’t have hit me,” Azula sniffed.

Zuko faltered. “It - it didn’t even hurt you!”

The way Azula’s lips curved into a smile reminded him of a viper in the grass, striking at its prey. “You’re just angry at me because you did nothing to defend Mother. You stood there and watched Father intimidate her like a scared little baby. Some fierce firebender _you’ve_ turned out to be.”

* * *

Before the doctor arrived, the family was meant to gather in one of the parlors adjoining the windowless inner-rooms of the house. Ozai had ordered them cleaned and carefully arranged per the doctor’s request, to allow the best examination environment right inside the royal palace. In the time leading up to the appointment he was pacing the room, expression tense, when Ursa entered. She realized too late that her children had not yet arrived, and immediately regretted her decision, not wanting to be alone with Ozai. But he spotted her before she could leave.

“Sit,” he ordered. After a moment of hesitation, she obeyed.

Ursa almost expected Ozai to continue to berate her for her earlier behavior, but Ozai only continued to wordlessly pace the room. The silence that stretched between them made Ursa so anxious she felt she must break it or fall ill.

“Do you know if the doctor’s exam will be invasive?”

“I don’t know the particulars.”

He continued to pace, not looking at her. She fidgeted. “What do you think the results will be?”

Ozai rolled his eyes. “If I had any way of knowing that, I wouldn’t have sent for a doctor.”

Ursa smoothed her hands over her lap and stared at the dark ripples of fabric. Truthfully, she was worried for Zuko. She’d seen this before - Ozai had spent years consumed with the paranoia that Zuko would not be a firebender, and was hostile and critical of him over everything as a result. Even when Zuko finally summoned his first flame, Ozai had only slightly relaxed his onslaught. She didn’t want to know how he would react if Zuko turned out to be anything but an alpha.

Ozai stopped pacing suddenly, and seemed to reconsider Ursa’s question. “For the most part, I trust Azula is an alpha - her excellent bending skills and natural mental and athletic aptitude imply she will have superior presentation. But I don’t want to waste any resources.”

“You presented late, didn’t you?” Ursa thought she recalled Iroh telling her as such years ago. “Couldn’t Azula and Zuko be the same? They’re only fourteen and sixteen.”

“Yes.” Ozai gritted his teeth. “But I presented on my sixteenth birthday _exactly._ Zuko turned sixteen in July. It is now September.”

“...I wish you wouldn’t be so hard on Zuko. He’s your son, and he only wants to make you happy.”

“That is rich, Ursa, considering your clear preference. I fail to see how I am being hard on Zuko when I am subjecting _both_ of our children to the same treatment. Or did you forget whatever invasive procedure you’re imagining might be performed on your daughter, too?”

“I did not forget,” Ursa lied. Well, not lied. She had remembered Azula was included. She had just forgotten Azula could be hurt by anything so mortal as a doctor. Or a mother’s hand. She really should apologize to her later. “And I do not just mean this doctor's visit. You are frequently unfair to Zuko.”

“Azula is _frequently_ excelling in her studies and Zuko is _frequently_ falling behind her, despite being two years her senior,” Ozai mocked. “You are too soft on him. He’ll never be the Fire Lord if he’s constantly clinging to his mother.”

Fury rose up in Ursa’s chest. “He will never be the Fire Lord because _you_ will never be the Fire Lord.”

She expected to be punished for the venom in her voice. But Ozai only addressed her in an uncharacteristically calm tone. “We will see.”

What could that mean? Azula’s earlier words about Ozai deserving the crown more than Iroh suddenly came to mind. Was the girl simply idolizing her father, or was she privy to deeper secrets? It unnerved Ursa to consider that her husband was discussing such treason, and that he’d entrust a child as his confidant.

From the hallway arose the familiar bickering of their children. Ursa held back her questions of Ozai’s loyalty as Zuko and Azula stumbled into the room, poking and prodding and arguing until Ozai silenced them with a furious shout.

* * *

Sonzehn hoped he was a picture of professional calm, because the cold hand of terror was ringing his neck, and making his voice sound shaky and feeble to his ears. He knew that today could either be the last day of his life, or the beginning of a long and illustrious career in medicine. If he brought good news, he would be exalted, the most sought-after doctor in the kingdom. And if he brought bad, well - he simply wouldn’t bring bad news. He would lie, and run far, far away, before Prince Ozai found out the truth and had him executed.

When the children were brought out to him, Sonzehn couldn’t have guessed what the results would be. The truth was, no matter the personality, the skills, the thickness of the jaw, the softness of the features, there were few ways to predict secondary sex without thorough examnation. Yes, female alphas tended towards height and solid build, but he’d identified plenty that were small and spry like this Azula. Yes, plenty of male betas tended towards a certain level of androgyny - but this was a child standing before him. _All_ children were androgynous. Aside from reproductive capabilities, there was very little that separated each and every sex… and yet Sonzehn was perfectly familiar with the fact that generations lived and died by these differences, persecuting one another and going so far to hurt their own children over imagined inferiority.

Sonzehn swallowed his fear and hoped at least one of the children was an alpha. Otherwise he would have to change his name. He would have to abandon his practice and his sweet wife Mera, and he’d have to resort to selling - oh - cabbages, or something, in a far off kingdom to survive. 

He started by explaining the details of the exam to the children’s mother. “I will talk to them before I begin, but I strongly advise that you give them clear expectations.” The careful explanation of a strange old man never compared to the gentle touch of a mother. Still, the girl, Azula, ended up singeing his shirt collar when he went in for a closer look. But it was worth it. 

An alpha. He was so relieved, he didn’t even care how the small patch of skin at his neck throbbed from the burn.

“If you do not extract that metal contraption this instant, I will tell the guards you tried to stick your fist inside me,” Azula snarled.

He removed the speculum immediately. How could a child her age even think of such a threat? “I apologize for any pain, my lady. Is it a relief to know you are an alpha?”

But she did not smile. She only flipped a lock of hair out of her eyes and declared, “Of course. It’s pathetic we needed you here just to tell us what we already knew.”

Maybe he imagined it, but there seemed to be a perkiness to her exit from the examination room. (Or what currently passed as an examination room - he was posted in an empty drawing room, ominous portraits of past Fire Lords looming down on him from the walls.) Sonzehn held the door for his patient, and then called out into the hall for the next child.

Although he put on a brave face, Zuko showed his nerves in a way his sister hadn’t. His brow furrowed, his body tensed, and Sonzehn understood why his mother had pleaded to be allowed in the room with him. He seemed as sensitive as she had said, but Sonzehn had refused her offer to hover. Even the most codependent child didn’t want their parent in the room for an examination of this kind.

“You may feel some pressure.”

Zuko sucked in a loud breath.

“No worries. Just a little longer.”

Sonzehn glanced up. The boy wasn’t looking at him - his face was white and his eyes were fixed on some point over the doctor’s shoulder. Doubtless he was making eye contact with one of the Fire Lord portraits behind the doctor - perhaps Sozin.

“It… hurts. Is that normal?”

“Only because you’re not used to it.” Sonzehn pressed down. Another sharp breath. “It’ll get easier, I promise.” And he meant that - the boy was tight with anxiety, so much so that it was hard to even get a finger in. Hopefully with age he could learn to relax his muscles. Still, Sonzehn found what he was looking for. “And… done.”

Sonzehn turned away to remove his gloves. Zuko lay for a moment or two, breathing hard, eyes closed, before he made a move to sit up.

“You haven’t said anything.” A pause, allowing the doctor to fill in the silence. He declined to. “Is it bad?”

“You are perfectly healthy.”

Sonzehn could hear the rustle of clothes, then silence. He turned to find the young prince looking at him expectantly. He considered telling the boy, but he was still deciding what to say to Prince Ozai, and didn’t want to get the wires crossed. 

“...Can you fetch your parents for me?”

Zuko looked like he wanted to say something, but he stopped and nodded. When he was gone, Sonzehn was sure that he’d made the right choice in having the boy wait. He could have just a few more minutes in the liminal space of childhood before the truth thrust him into the world of adulthood, of arranged marriages and birthright and the loss of his reproductive agency. Because the truth was worse than beta sterility.

An omega. Spirits - no secondary sex sent parents and society itself into a frenzy quite like omegas did. Sonzehn could only imagine what Prince Ozai would do with the boy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Zhao returns briefly to the mainland, where his fortunes improve. Meanwhile, Zuko struggles with the revelation that he’s an omega.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you everyone for the warm reception.... i really hope you enjoy this chapter!

When they reached the port of the Fire Nation capital, Captain Zhao’s face split into a grin. Tonight, he and his shipmates were to be honored for their capture of a string of outlying Earth Kingdom islands, key among them a rebel base that Zhao, personally, had ensured was burnt to ashes. Although the celebration was slightly soured by the fact that it must be shared, Zhao held confidence in the knowledge that _he_ , as the ship’s captain, was the clear stand-out of the night. Furthermore, this ceremony could only provide more opportunity to mingle with some of the most important men and women in the Fire Nation, most of whom he rarely got a chance to see if not for these brief respites on the mainland. 

Zhao was free to make his plans for the night unbothered, chuckling to himself and leering over the bow, as most of the men on board the ship gave him a wide berth. Even the most seasoned officers had been disquieted by his fierce defeat of the Chameleon Bay rebels, chief among them Zhao’s former bending teacher. It was not lost on the crew how little remorse he’d shown in disposing of someone he used to know dearly, traitor to the crown or not. 

And so all avoided him, except Admiral Shu, a jovial old man who had viciously quelled many an Earth Kingdom fleet in his day. He grabbed Zhao by the shoulder and crowed, “Aren’t _you_ excited for your little pageant? Will you be performing for us tonight?”

Zhao smirked, deciding to humor the old man. “As a matter of fact, I’ve written an entire ballad on the tsunghi horn.”

“The tsunghi horn - a good, masculine instrument! How well do you blow it?”

“I haven’t had to play since you had a full head of hair, so I’m a little rusty. Thankfully, I’ll only be performing for an hour or two.”

Admiral Shu gave a hearty laugh and slapped him a little too hard on the back. “You’re a good one, Zhao, and you deserve to be recognized. Someday you’ll be leading this ship.”

“Only after you’ve retired, of course,” Zhao said delicately.

“Ha! Only after you’ve killed me for it, more like.” At this, Zhao shrugged - who could say for sure? He’d certainly thought about disposing of the old man more than once - and Shu only laughed harder. 

“Will any of the royal family be there tonight?”

“Ambitious, aren’t we? I doubt the Fire Lord will make an appearance, and the Dragon of the West is still beating down the doors to Ba Sing Se, but the younger prince, Ozai, will supposedly be around. No surprise there. Never took to the trenches himself, that one; loves his ivory tower.”

“To be fair, he has a divine right to that tower.” Zhao was also more apt to admire royalty like Iroh, who had the experience necessary to speak from the perspective of the field and the larger strategy of war, but Zhao would never criticize Ozai or any other member of the royal family aloud. Ultimate devotion, duty to the nation, blah blah blah - not to mention that slander could strike down his career before it ever truly began. Shu was old enough now that his best years were steadily lining up behind him; he could afford to speak out of turn.

“I just hope there are some single omegas at this gathering - I’m sick of the _stench_ on this ship.” To demonstrate, Shu sniffed the air and gagged. “Alphas and betas and more alphas. Wretched. I know it’s to protect them from being fucked to death, but if we were allowed just _one_ sweet little omega on the ship-”

Zhao interrupted the foul diatribe before it could get any more graphic. “Somehow, old man, I don’t think there are going to be many romantic prospects at a military ceremony.”

“That’s _Admiral_ Old Man to you.” They were docking now. Shu waved at the civilians who rushed to greet their ship. “And who knows - when you network at these dinners, there’s always someone looking to pawn off their omega spawn on the alpha men home from war. Just promise me that before you agree to anything, son, you’ll make sure she doesn’t have the face of a dog-bat.”

* * *

Just before the opening ceremonies, a rumor made its way through the crowd that the Fire Lord was coming. It started in whispers and erupted into rapidly turning heads, as the newcomers searched for the uniquely armoured palace guards, or the imperial palanquin. But as the event started, and it became evident that the rumor was just that, the tide of the whispers amongst the audience shifted. A noble woman told Zhao conspiratorially that the Fire Lord rarely left his palace, and hadn’t been seen in public for nearly a month. Her wife chimed in that he seemed to need to conserve his energy, to protect himself… and here she trailed off. For to admit that the Fire Lord was ailing was tantamount to treason. 

Yet everyone seemed to agree: there was something amiss happening in the royal palace. While Zhao preferred the isolation of the sea, the way a man could rise more efficiently through the political climate of a single ship, being here on the mainland afforded him insight into a wellspring of handy information he’d been totally cut off from. He took this all in without comment. It was surprisingly easy to get others to talk without implicating himself as a dissident - blabbermouths were always willing to share their gossip with a new and patient ear.

Although it did give Zhao a small heart attack, when he removed himself from a group of people who were sure that the Fire Lord was secretly dead, and walked straight into the path of Prince Ozai, who fixed him with a steely glare.

“When I heard that a Captain Zhao had eliminated Jeong Jeong’s insurgents in Chameleon Bay, it somehow hadn’t occurred to me that it was you. But I suppose that is my fault. I still think of you as an insolent child, setting fire to your father’s carriage because you couldn’t control your bending.”

Zhao placed a hand over his heart. “You _wound_ me, my prince. To think you’d forgotten all about me, when you used to spend so much time on our estate in Kirachu. Although in your defense, I don’t think we’ve seen each other since you and Wei were in the academy. Do you two still talk?” 

Ozai shook his head. “Wei has withdrawn from political life. But you would know more of your older brother’s affairs than I.”

Zhao shrugged. “It’s a shame, but what are you going to do? He’s just obeying the natural order of things, and I for one am relieved not to have that argument. It gets ugly in some families, but Wei had no trouble learning his place.”

“I suppose he felt the natural shift in power.” Ozai went silent then, his eyes trailing over Zhao’s face as if to take in how much he had changed since childhood. Or perhaps to examine him for faults. 

Then, “...Would you join me at my table?”

“I’d be honored, my lord. I mean - my prince!” Shit. He’d been at sea too long. It was slander to refer to any nobility beneath the Fire Lord with the title of “lord,” even among those in the royal family.

“In due time.” Ozai did not seem bothered by the way Zhao had misidentified his title; in fact, there seemed to be a hint of amusement in that response. Zhao tucked this observation away for later examination.

The prince’s table was cordoned off in the balcony, with guards on either side of the entrance. The entourage encircling his table comprised, predictably, of the most impressive guests of the night. There was General Ezin, most famous for capturing the city of Na about thirty years ago, now content to ride the coattails of his more youthful success; Admirals Chadeng and Fan of the northern fleet, each of whom Zhao would give an arm and a leg to serve under; and finally, Governor Darah, who oversaw Kirachu, one of the most prosperous islands that made up the Fire Nation. Governor Darah had actually succeeded his role from Zhao’s own father, and they exchanged pleasantries about the weather on Kirachu this time of year and how Zhao’s family was doing back home. 

“It’s hard, being deployed on the other side of the world, but I’m not anxious to get back to Kirachu,” Zhao confessed. “I can’t stand to have my family hovering around, and I know my inheritance won’t burn to the ground while I’m gone.”

General Ezin, who had been listening in on their conversation, seemed somewhat perplexed by that comment. “Now, I met your family some time ago, Zhao... didn’t you have an older brother?”

“You’re thinking of Wei.”

“Yes, yes - how is it that you’ve come to inherit the Kirachu estate? He hasn’t passed away, has he?”

Zhao chuckled. “Wei is alive and well. But he is a beta.”

“Oh, goodness!” General Ezin smacked himself in the forehead. “I should have guessed! Birth order is second only to status.”

“And rightfully so,” Ozai spat. “The fact that you would _ever_ make the idiotic assumption that birth order could subsume Zhao’s right is laughable at best, and a complete disrespect at worst.”

General Ezin babbled his apologies, but even once the matter was settled, a dark cloud seemed to hang over the prince. As the men and women at the table broke off into other conversations, Zhao leaned over to Ozai and whispered, “Forgive the intrusion, but you seem to be in a rotten mood. Is everything alright?”

Zhao knew it was unlikely that Ozai would confide in him, but he was half-hoping for some lurid details on the matter of the Fire Lord. The hissyfit could certainly be forgiven if the prince’s father were dying.

Maybe it was the strength of the baiju they were drinking, but to his surprise, Ozai opened up. “It’s a matter concerning my children. We’ve finally learned their status.”

Zhao was definitely not expecting that, but it made sense. Betas could inherit your estate if there were no alpha children to leave it to, but a pair of omegas could leave your hard-earned wealth at the mercy of their future mates. “Is it bad?”

“My daughter, Azula, is an alpha. Naturally - she’s a prodigy bender, and has already mastered lightning bending at fourteen. There are adults who never grasp the basics.”

The corner of Zhao’s mouth quirked irresistibly. So, even someone as cold as Ozai could be struck by the urge to brag about his children. “She sounds absolutely wonderful, sir. A worthy heir. So what’s the problem?”

Ozai gave such a withering sigh that, were he an airbender, could have pushed the table back ten feet. “The oldest boy, Zuko, is an omega.”

There was a beat. “And?”

“And it is _shameful_ . He has always been too sensitive, lagging far behind the talents of a sibling _two years_ younger than him, and now he stands to inherit nothing. He has disappointed me once again.”

Zhao glanced at the other occupants of their table to ensure they weren’t listening. “Permission to speak plainly, my prince?”

Ozai glared at him from the corner of his eye. “Proceed with caution.”

Zhao opened his arms. “You have a viable heir. Who cares if you have one omega? We just talked about this - birth order doesn’t matter! It’s all about status, and you have one alpha.”

Ozai scowled. “Male omegas barely have a purpose.”

“The birth rate is lower, sure, but an omega is an omega. They can still carry on the bloodline. That’s kind of their _entire_ purpose.” Ozai did not seem convinced. Zhao went on. “Look - can the kid firebend?”

“Hardly.”

“I didn’t ask if he was good. Can he firebend? Is the gene there?” Ozai nodded. “Then what you have on your hands is a prime bargaining chip. If you marry him off to a firebender alpha of nobility, you could _easily_ add one of the most prestigious families in the Fire Nation to your family tree.”

Ozai shook his head. “I see the benefit for whoever he marries, but not for me.”

“Think politically! Do you need better grain imports? I know a guy running an Earth Kingdom colony with a couple of alpha daughters that are of marrying age. You need to bribe an Admiral to stay quiet over some misappropriated ships? Hand him your son on a silver platter.” These examples didn’t seem to move Ozai. Zhao waited until the prince was looking at him to make a pointed glance at Governor Darah.

“...And if you’re having trouble keeping Kirachu aligned with the goals of the crown, you happen to have a member of their oldest noble family sitting right in front of you.”

Ozai’s expression did not budge. “I was under the impression that it had been some time since you last wrote home. And yet you seem perfectly aware of Kirachu’s political standing.”

Zhao smiled smugly. “It has been some time - but it’s a gossipy bunch in attendance tonight. I’ve learned a great deal just by making the rounds.” His expression softened. “You realize I’m just throwing my hat in the ring? I’m not demanding anything.” He was was not stupid enough to extort a prince.

“Good. That would be quite deadly.” Ozai held his gaze. “...I have to say I’m not surprised by the turn of this conversation, Zhao. Although I haven’t followed your career _that_ closely, it’s hard not to catch wind of it here and there. There are rumors that you have a certain… appetite.”

Zhao suppressed the urge to cringe with a light laugh. “You make me sound like a degenerate. Isn’t a man allowed his preferences?”

“Yours seem to align with what I currently have to offer.” Ozai paused. “The incident in the Southern Water Tribe?”

“Overblown.” Outwardly Zhao smirked, although he was mortified the rumor seemed to have made it all the way to the capital. “There won’t be any bastard firebenders running around the South Pole, if that’s what you’re worried about. I clean up my messes.”

Ozai sighed. “Then I am comfortable with this arrangement. However, due to the boy’s age, I’m sure Ursa will _insist_ that you meet him before anything is agreed to.”

“I’m perfectly amenable to that.” Admiral Shu’s warning of _dog-bat faced_ crossed his mind. Yes, a meeting was certainly a good idea. “How old is he?”

“Sixteen.”

That was a little young for Zhao’s tastes, but it was impossible that this opportunity would present itself again, short of the Crown Prince Iroh announcing that he was getting remarried. If history was anything to go off of, the man seemed to have a thing for divorcées, but the chances that Iroh could become a step-father to some omega of marrying age _this_ late struck Zhao as quite slim. He made a mental note to send off a messenger hawk, with instructions for Wei to arrange an extravagant engagement gift to be sent to the royal palace.

“One last thing before we proceed.” Ozai noticeably lowered his voice, almost as if he did not want the others at the table to hear him. “I need to know where your loyalties lie.”

The easy answer to questions like these was always to just say, “to the Fire Nation” or “to the Fire Lord,” but Zhao reflected on the whispers that had seized the room that night, and of his earlier misstep that had so amused Ozai.

“I’ll be loyal to whoever sits on the throne,” Zhao replied.

For the first time that night, Ozai smiled. It was not a warming sight. 

* * *

Zuko’s father hadn’t spoken to him in twelve days.

It wasn’t that they were usually close. Ozai seemed to rebuff most of Zuko’s attempts to reach out, only ever responding with criticism or an order to leave him alone. Zuko knew it was in his best interests - his father only wanted him to be stronger, better than he was - but somehow, this crushing silence was so much worse than any of the harsh words Ozai had ever flung at him. And it had happened because of that doctor.

After the examination was complete, Zuko had stood forlorn outside the room where his parents and the doctor were holed up, discussing his fate. He knew it wasn’t anything good, and found himself consumed by the paranoia that the doctor had lied when he said that he was in perfect health - what if he were riddled with tumors, some creeping sickness that rotted him from the inside out? 

A mere thirty seconds after the door closed, it was flung open again, and Ozai swept out of the room, robes billowing behind him like a dark fog. His features were stiff with anger, and he seemed not to notice Zuko, or at least be purposefully avoiding him as he marched quickly away. The boy had followed him to an extent, reaching for his father’s robe and for some reassurance, but he was shaken off so fiercely his hand was still trembling when his mother came to collect him. She was the one who finally told him he was an omega.

Ever since, Ozai had sequestered himself in the far reaches of the palace. Zuko only got an idea of where his father was when a guard or his mother would suddenly appear to volley him away from whatever hallway he’d been walking, with excuses that there were private meetings his father had to attend to.

Zuko was sixteen - of _course_ he knew how alphas, omegas, and betas worked. He knew the differences between men and women in each group, how heats came in cycles, how the first rut was unprompted but the rest solely happened in response to an omega’s heat. He knew who could reproduce with who… but he hadn’t realized that to be an omega was such an affliction. It had just seemed like a necessary function to him, like - like how the navy and the army and all the other branches of the military attacked from different battlefields, but still ultimately comprised a larger force that made the Fire Nation powerful. Wasn’t reproduction just a fact of life, something human beings needed to do to keep on existing? And yet Ozai seemed to think Zuko had betrayed him by being born this way.

And how Azula had flounced past him in the days following, grinning ear to ear. Of course _she_ was in a good mood. It had been confirmed once again that she was the superior child. Even now, when he was just trying to study in the garden, she found reasons to taunt him over his status.

“You’re going to have so many babies, your body’s going to be ruined.”

“That’s not how it works,” Zuko grumbled. He lifted up his book and turned away, as if to shield himself.

“Yes it is,” Azula insisted. “If you get pregnant too many times, they’ll have to carry you everywhere in the palanquin, or everything will fall out of you when you stand up.”

“Shut up!”

“It’s a good thing Mother keeps you home-schooled - just the smell of an omega can send alphas into a frenzy.” She tapped her chin. “Speaking of which, you should be more careful with some of the palace guards. You’ll probably start smelling like a feast to them soon, and even the most loyal soldiers won’t be able to resist getting a taste-”

He whipped a swath of fire at her, but even mid-sentence she was ready to take it and magnify it back at him, so that in his attempt to protect his face, he stumbled and fell onto his back into the grass. His book fell from his hands in the tussle, and now the page he was supposed to be reading was blackened and burned away.

“Oh come on, Zuzu,” Azula mocked. “You couldn’t light a _candle_ with a flame that pathetic.”

He stumbled to his feet and with the intent to lash out at her, to attack or insult or do _something_ , but was mortified by the stinging of tears in his eyes. Instead of facing Azula, he ran blindly away, leaving his things in the garden. He heard her laugh, but the sound didn’t follow him inside the palace. Still, he ran as though he was being chased, even as his own cowardice made him sick to his stomach. 

Zuko ran until he reached his bedroom and slammed the door behind him. Then he threw himself into his bed and allowed himself to angrily cry over all the unfair things that had happened in the past two weeks. He cried because he was an omega, and this seemed to prove his inferiority to Azula was absolute. He cried because his father seemed to think so, too. And last of all, he cried because his cousin Lu Ten was dead, and he’d been so concerned with his own tiny problems that he had barely spared him or Uncle Iroh a second thought. And the reminder that he was petty and selfish only kept the cycle going, so that eventually he had cried himself into an exhausted and unrestful sleep.

He awoke to the sound of his bedroom door creaking and his mother’s gentle voice calling out to him. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, slightly confused about where he was. His dream had felt real, and he’d been in the garden, by the turtle-duck pond, only instead of the pond there was a bonfire, and he was bending the blaze. Azula and Lu Ten had been there, too, breaking up pieces of palace furniture, old chests, bookshelves, the ornately carved table in the dining hall, and finally the throne itself, and one by one they tossed these broken vestiges of their royal inheritance into the fire. He could still feel the heat on his skin.

“Are you awake?” His mother had opened the door just a crack, and was peeking through at him.

“Yes. Come in.” 

She came and sat beside him on the bed, her expression turning to worry when she had a better look at his face. “Are you alright? You look like you’ve been crying.”

“No. I’ve just been asleep.” Feeling self-conscious, Zuko angled his face away from her. “Why are you here?”

“There’s someone your father and I would like you to meet tomorrow. I just wanted to have a conversation with you beforehand, to make sure you understand why we are asking this of you.”

Something in her tone was putting him on edge. “Another doctor?”

“No.” Ursa hesitated. “You know that I’m also an omega, Zuko.”

“Yes.”

“And you know that…” She trailed off, trying to organize her thoughts. “Have I ever told you how your father and I married?”

Zuko was utterly clueless for how this could be relevant. “I mean. You got married right here, at the palace. I’ve seen the painting in your bedroom.” The colors in the portrait were strangely muted, and there were no streamers, no flowers, no decorations to be seen. Just his parents in formal robes, standing side by side, their expressions sober. One could hardly guess it was a wedding portrait if they didn’t already know.

“Right. But what I mean is… Your father and I didn’t know each other all that well when we were married. We were brought together because Fire Lord Azulon thought it was the right decision for his son, and our union would benefit both of our families. Do you understand what I mean?”

“You mean your marriage was arranged.” He hadn’t explicitly known, but it wasn’t a surprise. His parents weren’t particularly close, and seemed to lack the affection he’d seen his uncle and late aunt exchange. Zuko wasn’t sure he’d ever even seen his mother smile at his father except to calm or placate him, and needless to say the gesture was never returned. 

Something dawned on him. “Wait - why are we talking about this right now?” 

He stood up. His mother reached out and gently took his hand. Her grip was loose enough that he could shake her off easily if he wanted to, but she hadn’t taken his hand to force him to stay.

“Let me explain, Zuko...”

“You’re giving me away to some stranger.”

Her lips trembled. “No. You have a choice. If you meet him and you don’t like him…”

Zuko’s eyes narrowed. “Then you’ll pick someone else for me?”

“Please understand, Zuko. I would never put you in harm’s way.”

“I just don’t understand _why_. We only found out I was an omega days ago. Why do we have to do this immediately?”

“Because-” The excuse died on her lips. She seemed to be searching herself for the answer. “Because there is no use in delaying the inevitable. We have a role to play in this family and a duty to our country. The role of an alpha is to lead. The role of a beta is to follow. And your role - _our_ role - is to keep this bloodline going.”

He’d heard a similar creed from tutors and teachers his entire life. “You sound rehearsed.”

“Zuko-”

He snatched his hand away from hers, cradling it as if burnt. But he didn’t flee. He so badly wanted to run, but he knew it would be of no use. What had she said - delaying the inevitable?

“...Can you tell me his name?”

“Captain Zhao.”

“He’s in the military?”

“The navy. I’m not sure what battalion.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Your father has offered him a new position as part of your dowry.”

Just the mention of a dowry made him sick to his stomach. He pressed on. “What’s he done - anything of note?”

“You’ll have to ask him. Your father seems impressed with what he’s accomplished for his age.”

Zuko hesitated on the next question. “...How old is he?”

“Twenty-six.”

Ten years his senior. Still, he found himself strangely relieved, and it must have shown on his face. “What is it?” Ursa asked.

“Nothing. I almost expected him to be older.” He was thinking about all the novels and histories he’d had to learn in school, the way he and Azula would jeer and make faces when their tutor admitted just how far apart certain figures and their mates had been in age. “Although… why can’t I marry someone my own age? Surely there are other noble families looking to marry off their kids.”

“Your father doesn’t think that nobility on its own is good enough. He wants an alpha with distinction. Zhao has military rank _and_ is from a well-respected noble family.”

“Oh. That makes sense, I guess.” Despite himself, Zuko was touched by Ozai’s insistence on the best possible candidate. “So he wants someone... good enough for me?”

The corners of Ursa’s eyes crinkled. “Yes - yes, of course.”

Zuko felt as though his resolve had been whittled down, so that he had started by wondering why he had to get married at all, and now was unsure whether there was a better option than this stranger he hadn’t even met. “Why are you even bothering to ask me? It doesn’t sound like I have a choice.”

“Of course you have a choice!” Ursa stood and flung her arms around him. “That’s why I want you to meet him. Zuko, if you don’t want to go through with it, you can say no. And I promise you that every prospect we introduce you to will have to go through me, first.”

Every prospect - because even if he rejected this one, there would be others. 

As his mother held him close, Zuko was struck by how similar they were in height - when had that happened? It felt like yesterday that his mother had dwarfed him, and he’d been enveloped by her arms whenever they embraced. Now she seemed much smaller. He wrapped his arms around her and put his head on her shoulder.

“...Thank you for looking out for me,” he whispered.

She stroked his hair. “Will you meet him for me, Zuko?”

“Yes. I’ll meet him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zhao shares a name with one of the seven warring states of ancient china, so Wei's name comes from another of those states. I know there's already a Wei in Legend of Korra, but he's minor and people can have the same names, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Also, I did not make up Kirachu - I grabbed that name from the Avatar wiki. Doesn't seem like a location that was heavily developed, so I'm taking liberties, hehe


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko and Zhao meet for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some cursory research on ancient chinese palaces for this chapter because i was trying to figure out how to refer to the individual buildings, and I liked the metaphor, so I yoinked "Lesser Hall" and "Great Hall" from one of the real palaces i was reading about

The news of Zhao’s impending exit spread through the ship like a grease fire. Zhao knew the old admiral was a gossip, but he was still nonetheless surprised when he woke up the next morning to a seemingly never-ending barrage of odd looks and questions. Some were subtle in their curiosity - during their standard morning meeting, the navigator commented on how odd it was that Admiral Shu had given him direct orders on where to set course for next; would Zhao like to offer any corrections? Others were less subtle. The cabin boy who served him breakfast inquired whether the captain liked lemon with his tea, and also, did Prince Ozai really have fiery, burning coals for eyes?

In the end, Zhao decided to call a meeting of his men. It was only partially out of any sense of duty - yes, any good leader would give forewarning of their departure and try to provide their comrades with a plan of transition, but mostly Zhao wanted an opportunity to seize upon the rumors before they got too bawdy or absurd. It was important his men knew the gravity of his transfer so they would behave appropriately in these last hours together. So he lined up everyone on deck, from the janitors to the first mate, and proceeded to address them.

“Although I was trying to keep things quiet until they were set in stone, it seems you are all already aware, so I will address these rumors before they get out of hand.” A murmur went through the crowd. Zhao could barely suppress a smug smile. “It is true that this may be one of the last times you gather here under my order. I am considering a position as captain on Admiral Chadeng’s fleet, and if I agree, I will depart tomorrow night.”

There was a pause. Zhao cleared his throat and shot a glare at his first mate, Chan.

“What? Oh!” Chan stood at attention. “Why were you promoted, sir? Is it because of your heroic feats at Chameleon Bay?” 

“That _is_ part of it, but not the whole of it,” Zhao declared. “For while I am being recognized for my great duty to our nation, I am also being promoted in return for considering a marriage to Prince Ozai’s firstborn.”

As earlier instructed, Chan responded with polite clapping, but the coaxing proved unnecessary. Upon hearing the news, the men immediately descended into a furor, both shocked and impressed. Zhao was delighted with the natural response, until somewhere near the front, he noticed one soldier lean over to another to mutter something, and the two snickered.

“What was that?” Zhao rounded on the two men, jaw rigid, fists literally burning with fury. “Is there something you find funny? Maybe you’d like to share it with the rest of the ship.”

Both men avoided his eyes. Zhao bore down on them until the taller of the two men mumbled something.

“Speak up!”

The shorter man piped up. “He said you should’ve held out for a better offer. It’s not really a promotion if you’re still just a captain.”

There was a pause as Zhao considered this. Then he gave a short laugh. The fire raging in his hands extinguished. “You’re absolutely right! I’ll be sure to tell Prince Ozai his offer wasn’t good enough.” He turned to the taller soldier, who had supposedly dreamed up this offense. “What is your name, again?”

“Lee?”

Zhao leered at him. “Of course. How could I forget. Lee.”

Lee gave a shaky, relieved smile. “It’s no problem, sir-”

With one furious burst of energy, Zhao hoisted Lee up and threw him, screaming and begging for mercy, over the side of the ship. There was a loud splash followed by many different voices crying out as the people on the docks below gathered to the edges of the water to see what all the commotion was about.

Admiral Shu laughed so hard, he had to wipe the tears out of his eyes. “Oh, he must’ve been new! Bless his stupid little heart. Foreman, fish our friend out of the water, would you?” Shu came to stand near Zhao and looked out into the harbor, where Lee was now doggy-paddling with panic towards a group of fishermen who were pointing and yelling questions. Admiral Shu patted Zhao’s heaving, furious shoulder. “Boy, will I miss your antics.”

* * *

Though he’d never admit it out loud, Zhao had found himself somewhat nervous to meet Ozai’s son. He was only human, and stood to lose a lot if this deal fell through; he could climb rank easily enough himself, but his marital prospects would unlikely be this lofty ever again. However, since the incident with Officer Lee, his men were now treating him with the frantic, terrified sort of obedience he liked to see, and he felt ready to face his afternoon meeting with full confidence. If he was coming to learn anything over the last few weeks, it was that he should give into his anger whenever the mood hit, as it was an excellent tool for keeping his men in line. 

While Zhao’s family had made regular visits to the capital city in his youth, there were few occasions where his father had felt the need to include his children in his palace appointments. And so Zhao had forgotten the barren earth that surrounded the palace, how the volcanic ash had carved away all signs of life, from flora to fauna. As a child it had dwarfed him with its immense size, but even now, revisiting it as a man, he looked upon it and was filled with a deep sense of foreboding.

The expanse of volcanic earth was too far to traverse on foot and too heavily guarded to navigate without express permission, and so Zhao was collected at the entrance by a servant of the palace and loaded into a carriage drawn by dragon mooses. Sitting alone, he watched from the window as the enormous palace wall rose up before them. Once they’d been allowed to pass through the gates, the transformation was jarring - lush, almost tropical plant life rose and bloomed in the sun, stretching out across a verdant sea of grass. And beyond that, the palace itself. It gave the impression of a dragon curled around its hoard, glittering red and gold scales catching in the warm afternoon sun. Suddenly Zhao didn’t care if the prince’s son had a harelip, or even a few extra eyes: he had to do _everything_ in his power to become a part of this world.

They did not come upon the main palace building. Instead, they turned towards one of the side buildings in the outer court, a smaller but still grand hall that had a more muted garden attached. If memory served, this was the Lesser Hall, named in contrast to the main structure of the palace, the Great Hall. Zhao was made to wait (in the shade, thankfully - he was wearing full military regalia, medals and all, and wasn’t terribly interested in sweating in the sun) until the family was ready to see him. Although he understood he was the guest of royalty, it irritated him slightly that he had to stand around outside like some vagrant, rather than being ushered into a comfy palatial lounge.

Ozai did not make an appearance, which was somehow less surprising than the fact that the servant who reported this expressed his sincerest apologies. “The prince is unfortunately tied up in a meeting with his father, the Fire Lord. Prince Ozai would still like you to meet his son today, and if it is desirable to you, would like it if you returned to the palace tomorrow morning to discuss the matter.”

“The matter” - such a curt way of naming one of the most exciting decisions of Zhao’s life. The royal family really did know how to put a man in his place. “It is no trouble at all. Tell Prince Ozai that I will return as early as he allows.” 

No sooner had the servant disappeared into the building had a beautiful woman appeared, a welcoming smile on her face. The golden flames pinned in her hair suggested that she was a member of the royal family, likely Ozai’s mate. Trailing behind her was a young man who must be Zuko.

It wasn’t love at first sight. Still, Zhao was filled with a certain relief when he saw that the boy had fetching, delicate features, and seemed to have the correct number of limbs and eyes. He was still dressed in the gender-neutral garb common for children and younger teenagers, rather than the more flowing robes that classed omegas, like the woman wore, not to mention his hair was bound up in a high phoenix tail rather than, again, a longer style more suited to an omega. There was no reason to fuss over the little details now; if they were married, Zhao would be sure to swiftly correct them.

When the boy spotted Zhao, his golden eyes dropped to the side, then flickered back to his face with a nervous curiosity, before looking away again. Someday, when he was older, it would come across as demure. But for now, it was just... cute. In a childish sort of way. 

When the woman was close enough, she began the introductions. “I am Ursa, the wife of Prince Ozai. This is my son, the Honorable Zuko. Zuko, this is Captain Zhao.”

“It is a pleasure to meet both of you.” Zhao bowed respectfully. Then, to Zuko, “You may drop my title when you address me, if you like.” 

Zuko nodded in affirmation, but didn’t say a word.

“Would you like to take a few minutes to get to know one another in privacy?” Ursa gestured to the garden. For the first time, Zhao felt he understood why they’d brought him here instead of inside the palace. If they were alone in a room together, they’d be able to hear every awkward cough, and have nothing to look at but whatever was on the walls. (Imposing portraits of Fire Lords past, no doubt.) Here there was the white noise of a curated nature - turtle-ducks cooing, cicadas buzzing, the lapping of the pond water and what have you. It would be calming, too, which they both needed. 

Zhao offered his arm to Zuko, who, after some hesitation, took it. And then they began to walk, leaving Ursa waiting patiently by the entrance of the garden with a servant. “Privacy” - Zhao felt decidedly creepier with the boy’s mother watching over them. Even though he didn’t plan to say anything scurrilous, he made a point of walking out of her earshot. Zuko seemed amenable to this plan, and went quietly where Zhao led. There was something else that was off about the situation, especially now that they were this close. But Zhao couldn’t put his finger on what, exactly, it was. Perhaps he was just unsettled by how far apart they were in age. That must be it.

Soon they had made it to the other side of the garden, but Zhao was no more sure what he was supposed to talk to Zuko about. What he was studying in school? His grades? Certainly it shouldn’t be hard to persuade a child of anything, much less a marriage that was probably barely his choice, but Zhao felt the words dry up on his tongue.

Zuko cleared his throat. “So - how did you get started in the navy?”

Right. Military. Zhao could talk about that. “It’s not a terribly flattering story. I joined the navy because I wanted to get out of the army.”

Zuko cocked his head. “You were in the army, too?”

“I know, it’s not normally how that goes. But I served for some time in the Si Wong Desert, and found it didn’t suit me. I was so sick of the heat and the boredom that I transfered.”

“I didn’t realize the army _could_ be boring.”

“It absolutely can be. I wasn’t part of a regiment that did any fighting - we didn’t establish a hold in the region, we were just maintaining control. No one’s terribly pressed to fight for the liberation of a desert, so we were mostly standing around in the sun and keeping the locals in line. It wasn’t what I signed up for, so once I had the experience I needed, I switched. I was always fond of sailing, anyway. Have you tried it?”

“Sailing?” Zuko frowned. “My uncle tried to show me a few summers ago, when we were at Ember Island. I wasn’t good at it. I got seasick way too easily.”

“It just takes a little bit of time to adjust.” Zhao wondered which uncle - someone from the maternal side, or literally _the_ Crown Prince Iroh? 

“If you already liked to sail, why didn’t you start out in the navy?”

“I was confident in my firebending, and I wanted to use it. See some action. Really, it’s all up to where you’re stationed, but I didn’t understand that then. It was one of those badly-informed decisions you make in your youth.” He paused. “No offense.”

Zuko peered up at him more boldly now, his gaze staying on Zhao’s face long enough for him to really study the color of his eyes. They were golden, like all members of the Fire Nation, but something about the glint in this boy’s eye reminded him of the honey-ridden burrows of the buzzard wasp. Speaking of, should he tell the story of where he narrowly escaped being impaled with a stinger the size of a man’s forearm? If nothing else, it would fill the silence.

But then again, Zhao got the sense that he needed to try a little harder than simply filling the silence.

“Can I ask you something? How are you feeling, about all of this?”

He was met with a modicum of surprise. “All of what?”

“All of…” Zhao gestured generally, then pointed to himself. “I mean, you’re being asked to meet with an adult stranger and make a life-changing decision based on this conversation. Isn’t it absurd?”

The boy’s immediate reaction was one of open shock. But gradually, this fell away to a small, genuine smile. “Yeah. It’s pretty crazy.” He looked like he was about to say something else, but stopped, and dropped his gaze again.

“It’s alright,” Zhao soothed. “What were you going to say?”

“Well… I asked my mother how I was supposed to fit an entire courtship into one meeting. And her response surprised me, because I thought she was going to tell me, you know, that there _will_ be other meetings, and that I shouldn’t approach this one in such a reductive way, but...” He trailed off.

“So?” Zhao prompted. “What did she tell you?”

A smile tugged at the corner of Zuko’s mouth. “That I should ask a lot of questions, because alphas like nothing more than talking about themselves.”

Zhao snorted. “I think everyone likes to talk about themselves.”

Zuko shook his head. “I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“No. It’s unnecessary to disclose so much of yourself to strangers.”

Zhao was taken aback by someone so youthful giving such an austere response. “You don’t necessarily have to tell strangers your life story. But say you’re really proud of something you’ve done. You don’t disclose that to anyone, not friends, not parents?”

“If it’s impressive. But if it’s just the raw facts of myself, it’s… boring.”

“Maybe to you - but not to the people who want to know you.” 

Zuko blushed at that, but held firm. “I just think it’s burdensome, I guess, to make someone listen to you talk about yourself.”

Zhao laughed. “I won’t bore you with any of my war stories, then.”

Despite the humor in his tone, Zuko looked hurt by what he said, and immediately started to backtrack. “I didn’t mean… I don’t feel that way listening to others. I just… I can’t get over the feeling that that’s what other people are thinking, when they’re forced to listen to _me_. They just don’t tell me it’s annoying because my father’s a prince.”

“Well, if it’s remotely comforting, I don’t find you at all burdensome to talk to.”

“Thank you.” Said without feeling. Apparently royalty was not only human, but capable of being deeply morose. Was the kid always this contemplative? 

Zhao sighed. “So you’re telling me that you think it’s burdensome for you just to tell someone what you like, and how you feel? What else is there to talk about? Half of all conversation is just disclosing facts about ourselves to people we care about, and...” What Zhao wanted to say was bordering on philosophical. He almost didn’t say it, but it seemed like being frank with the kid was a better way to open him up than awkward smalltalk. “...We do it because we want to see ourselves reflected in someone we love or admire. We know that if we take a chance and disclose something intimate about ourselves, we might get something back.”

Zuko blinked. “Like now?”

Despite himself, Zhao felt heat creeping up his neck. With just two words, he’d been laid bare by a teenager. Not exactly his most impressive moment. “Yes. Exactly like now.”

Zuko had gone deeply quiet again, and given the nature of their discussion, Zhao felt that to speak would only cement himself as an annoying blowhard. In fact, as they walked on, he only became more and more sure that he’d given exactly the sort of lecture a condescending adult gives to a child they thoroughly underestimate - and really, how did he think _that_ would charm someone into wanting to marry him? It was foolish to-

He noticed, then, that Zuko was now holding onto him with both hands, and had leaned a little into his touch. Zhao didn’t look down, for fear of ruining the moment, but just as he’d been sure a moment ago that he had failed, he was now just as certain that he would be married to the boy by the end of the week.

* * *

Zuko’s mother at least waited until Zhao’s carriage was a good distance away before she besieged her son with questions. “So? What was he like?”

Zuko avoided her gaze. “He was nice, I guess.”

“That’s good to hear.” She chuckled to herself. “Although, it was a short meeting. I imagine most people can behave themselves for half an hour.”

A series of memories flashed through Zuko’s mind. Insults shouted, snarled, and hissed, near-animalist evocations of anger from a human host. White-hot pain interspersed with more blunt impacts. How each of these instances of violence stretched into a pattern over the course of his life. No, some people really couldn’t hold it together for half an hour at a time, especially not when Zuko was there to fumble into their bad graces. Zhao’s endurance of Zuko’s rambling today was a feat that shouldn’t be underestimated.

His mother’s voice shook him out of his reveries. “What did you two talk about?”

Zuko realized he was cradling his left wrist. He smoothed his hands by his sides. “We talked about his military career, and some other stuff.”

She smiled at his vagueness. “What constitutes ‘other stuff?’”

It was not only hard to explain the conversation he’d had with Zhao, but it felt wrong to try. Like he’d be violating some trust they’d built. “Just… life, I guess. At least he talked to me like I was an adult.”

Something flickered in Ursa’s expression. “And what sort of adult topics did you cover?”

He scowled away the blush he felt creeping onto his face. “Not like that! It was philosophical.”

“Oh. Sorry.” And she did seem to be. Zuko immediately felt bad for being annoyed with her.

They were quiet as they climbed the stairs back inside of the Lesser Hall, where their family lived. While they were free to navigate the full extent of the palace and its grounds, they did not live in the inner court because Ozai was not the crown prince. Once Iroh and eventually Lu Ten took the throne, Zuko wondered if he and his family would be allowed to stay, or have to leave to make room for Lu Ten’s family, but surely his cousin and his uncle would be kind rulers who -

Except Lu Ten was never going to be a ruler. He was never going to have a family of his own, either. The memory of his death was jarring, and Zuko felt foolish for forgetting something so final as a death. Maybe his heart and mind had just been walking a practiced path, trusting certain things would always be the same.

The hall where Zuko and his mother entered was quiet, and the cool temperature of the dark was a welcome reprieve from the late summer sun. He felt a hand take his.

“You don’t have to decide immediately, you know,” Ursa soothed. Zuko was just about to respond to her, to voice some of his anxieties, when a new voice sliced through the air.

“Actually, time is of the essence.”

With surprise, they turned to find Ozai standing in the entryway. Self-conscious, Zuko tugged his hand out of his mother’s grasp. She didn’t reach for him again.

“Oh,” Ursa exclaimed, faintly. “Ozai - how did your meeting with your father go?”

“You and I have much to discuss.” He didn’t didn’t even spare a glance at his son as he ordered, “Zuko, go wait in your room. Your mother will speak to you later.”

Zuko knew better than to hesitate on an order from his father. He gave a respectful nod to Ozai and left the room, just as he was told. 

* * *

Ozai didn’t need to explain his whims - if he decided there was no time, then there was no time. Instead of trying to reason why, Zuko found himself anxiously dwelling on just _how_ little time he had. Surely he had a week, a few days to make this decision? It couldn’t be down to hours? Was Zhao shipping out sometime soon, making time of the essence? And if so, why hadn’t his mother told him? Wasn’t she his ally in all of this?

He worried himself into such a nauseous state that he had to stand by the window and take gasping breaths of fresh air to calm his stomach. Closing his eyes, he rested his cheek against the windowpane and tried to force his mind to empty itself. But the fearful thoughts only kept rushing back. How had he pictured this, when he was a kid? He’d never been a particularly romantic child, but surely he hadn’t accepted that someone would just be picked for him. 

No - he had more freedom than that, didn’t he? His parents would pick, and he could veto. It was almost the same as being allowed to pick someone himself. Maybe if they made enough suggestions, he could just keep rejecting them until he felt… _something,_ until he felt that fabled spark that had inspired countless plays and novels. 

...He hadn’t felt that spark today, had he? Even when Zhao had asked him how he felt? Or said what he had said about disclosing yourself, if only for a chance to see yourself reflected back? 

Had Zhao been nervous? Was he thinking about this as anxiously as Zuko was now? Suppose Zuko did come to love him. What would it feel like to be married to someone who was always gone, at war and at sea? Would it mean Zuko’s life was mostly unchanged, except for the brief intervals where his husband returned? Or would it be terribly painful, to be separated like that?

The door opened without a knock. Zuko sighed and pressed his eyes shut tighter, wishing for one last moment to himself.

“Zuzu,” came Azula’s singsong voice, “Grandfather and I missed you today! Granted, he didn’t acknowledge you once, but your absence was _certainly_ felt.”

He knew he shouldn’t take the bait, but the realization that Azula had been with Ozai to speak to the Fire Lord was like a knife in his side. He opened his eyes and turned to her. “Why were you invited to speak with the Fire Lord and not me?”

“Probably because you were busy being courted, dumb dumb.” 

He knew that Azula was their father’s favorite, but it still hurt that Ozai would wait for Zuko to be indisposed to go off having secret meetings with the Fire Lord. Zuko was beginning to suspect that nothing he did was ever going to be good enough to earn Ozai’s approval.

Azula threw herself down on his bed, messing up the covers and causing a couple of pillows to fall to the floor. She didn’t pick them up. “By the way, I saw the Commander on his way out, and he actually looks passable. Good job, Zuzu.” She paused. “Well - excluding the sideburns. A little dramatic for my tastes. What is he, forty?”

“He’s a captain. And no - we’re only ten years apart.”

“Well, if it’s _only_ a whole decade.” Azula rolled onto her back, pondering this with one sharp little nail tapping against her lower lip. “I guess that _is_ rather boring. I was hoping Mom and Dad would marry you off to some shriveled geezer for political clout.”

“They’re not making me do anything. I have a choice.” Zuko picked up one of the pillows she dropped and threw it, none-too-gently, near her head. 

Azula pouted. “Well? Aren’t you going to tell me anything about him? Was he a huge bore? Did he brag about himself endlessly? Do you want him to fuck you?”

“Azula-”

“These are important questions!” She sat up with a huff. “You’re not going to make a decision without even picturing it first, are you? It’s important that you ask yourself if you can stand to have him sweating over you every night for the rest of your life!”

Zuko cringed. He didn’t want to talk about sex with his little sister. “Look, I know you’re dying to tell me about whatever Dad said to the Fire Lord, so can you just get on with it?”

Azula grinned. “Fine, prude. But only because it was _so_ juicy.” She made a point of looking at the door, as if to check that people were listening. “You should shut that, by the way. I wouldn’t want anyone overhearing this.”

After a stubborn pause, Zuko relented and shut the door for her. Once he’d sat down, Azula leaned in and said,

“It started with me giving a demonstration of my bending prowess - as you know, I’ve recently mastered lightning, but I also threw some more complex stances in to show that my knowledge is deeply technical, not merely focussed on the showiest of feats. I went through each of the eighteen hands of Luohan quan -”

“I don’t need to hear every detail of your performance,” Zuko scoffed. 

“Fine - I should’ve known not to elaborate. You’ve already shown your disinterest in bending with your complete lack of progress.” Azula flipped a lock of hair out of her face. “Anyway, when I was finished, Father proceeded to apologize that you and Mother were otherwise occupied, and put a curious emphasis on your upcoming marriage to this Captain Zhao.”

“ _Proposed_ marriage,” Zuko corrected. “I haven’t decided yet.” Although his father’s focus on this detail had his interest piqued. So Zuko _hadn’t_ been forgotten, nor had he been deliberately snubbed. 

“A technicality. In any case, Father said that the reason he had come before the Fire Lord that day was to emphasize the strength of his family. That he had two perfectly viable children. And that’s when I learned the first most surprising piece of information.”

Azula paused dramatically. “Iroh has given up his siege of Ba Sing Se.”

Zuko was taken aback. “What? But that’s been going on for almost two full years now.”

“Six hundred days, to be precise. He’s returning home, a loser, all because of Lu Ten. It shows a complete disrespect to the men he commands.”

Zuko narrowed his eyes. “He just lost a son. Cut him some slack.”

“If he’s so upset, he can quit without taking the entire army with him.”

Zuko shook his head. “They’ve been at it for so long - I’m sure their forces are depleted and there’s little else they can do but recoup the loss. I trust our uncle is making the right choice…”

“Father doesn’t think so. He told the Fire Lord that the charade needed to end, that his rightful-”

She stopped. A coy, feline smile curled her lips. “Well. I don’t know if you can be trusted with the rest.”

Zuko frowned. “What are you talking about? Just tell me!”

“No. I don’t think that’d be wise at this juncture.” She jumped off the bed and skipped towards the door. Zuko followed her.

“You can’t just come here to taunt me with information like that! How do I know you’re not lying about that meeting being important?”

“It probably wasn’t important,” Azula breezed. “After all, I always lie.”

She reached for the handle, but the door swung open. Zuko had been so anxiously awaiting his mother’s return that he fully expected her to be the one standing on the other side of the door, but instead there was his father looming there. Even Azula’s expression belayed a level of surprise at his arrival.

“Father, I was just-”

“I need to speak to your brother.” Ozai moved in the doorway and looked at her expectantly. Zuko realized that he was making room for her to walk past him.

There was hurt on Azula’s face, and she started to protest. “But what do you-”

“Now, Azula,” Ozai ordered. Zuko had never heard him speak to Azula with such coldness before, and guessing by the look on her face, it was a deep shock to her as well. For just a beat, her eyes flickered back and forth between them, and Zuko was unsure if she’d comply.

But Azula composed herself. “...Yes, Father.” And with that, she left.

Ozai didn’t move to sit, or even to shut the door after her. He stayed standing on the threshold, his expression grave, and addressed his son. “I know that I have seemed irate, since your status was named. I admit I may have been rash in how I reacted.”

It took Zuko a moment to register what his father had said. Certainly it couldn’t be what it sounded like - was Zuko’s father admitting fault? In the slight pause that followed, he dared not speak. He could barely breathe, he was so afraid to disturb the perfect conditions that had led to this moment.

Ozai went on. “The signs were there for a long time, and I didn’t want to see them. Now that we know what you are, your weak nature isn’t so much of a disappointment, but a revelation of your biological tendencies. The same sensitivity that dilutes an alpha is merely the fact of an omega’s predisposition. If anything, this is the best possible result for you, because it means that you are not a failure of an alpha. You are just an omega.”

The words sliced through Zuko like a knife, but that was just his sensitivity. Everything Ozai was saying was true, and an improvement from before, when he wouldn’t speak to Zuko at all.

“Captain Zhao is an admirable naval officer with a promising career ahead of him. Moreover, he has great influence with the nobility of Kirachu Island, where we are trying to quell civil unrest. The Fire Nation _must_ remain united if we are to continue this war.” Ozai met his son’s gaze. “I am here today, Zuko, because I want you to know that if you were to accept Captain Zhao’s proposal, you would be doing a great honor for your country. Your union would be a great show of faith, and deserving of pride.”

Zuko’s heart seemed to be a living thing, independent of him; he felt it seize in his chest before he even processed the words. In all is life, his father had never said that he was proud of him. Not even once. He couldn’t have ever imagined that here, in one of his lowest moments, he’d find the opportunity to please Ozai. His status as an omega had seemed like a curse, but if something good could come of it, if he could make his father proud? It would make the last few days of heartache seem like a small price to pay. 

Zuko understood now why Azula hung onto Ozai’s every word; it felt intoxicating to finally hold his father’s attention, and for a _good_ reason.

Head held high, Zuko declared, “Then I agree to marry him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay look: before you guys giggle at me over the whole "Honorable Zuko" thing, i looked up how prince's children are supposed to be referred to, and that's the proper manner of address (well... in england at least....... i couldnt find much elsewhere), and it was so fitting i couldnt NOT do it


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko’s life changes irrevocably over the course of one morning. Zhao cooks up a plan to ensure his investment is worthwhile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i toured the imperial palace in kyoto, some of the rooms were named after how they were decorated, e.g., the room with tigers painted on the walls was the tiger room, there was a crane room, etc. i thought that was an incredibly cool way to denote certain rooms to visitors and household staff alike, so that's the inspiration for "the emerald room"

“I would like to raise a toast!” Zhao declared, lifting his glass high into the air. “To _me_ . The only man who walked out of that ceremony with a medal, a promotion, _and_ the hand of the most sought-after omega in the country.”

The crowd of sailors responded with a mix of boos and laughs, but nonetheless raised their glasses with him.

“Now, now, quiet down. I’d also like to toast the good men of this ship, of whom I am sick to death. May we never cross paths again!”

The men crowed and cheered, jostling their captain and spilling half the alcohol they had in their glasses. The lot of them had crowded into a small, local bar, and were frankly scaring away any and all other customers. But there was little the owners could do to turn away countrymen home from war. Heaven forbid if a hoard of drunk, firebending soldiers were told they had to leave. And so the celebration raged on.

Zhao was in the process of ordering another round at the bar when Admiral Shu cornered him. “I can’t help but notice you didn’t toast me, Zhao! You can’t even thank the man who brought it all together?”

Zhao snorted. “Yeah? What would I toast you for?”

“For giving you the idea, of course! Didn’t I tell you? People go into those ceremonies looking to get engaged, and now here you are!”

Zhao rolled his eyes, but nonetheless lifted his empty glass. “To my old Admiral…”

“...May I find a captain that doesn’t want to kill me in my sleep for my ship!” Admiral Shu clanged his glass against Zhao’s and laughed. “Now, don’t go forgetting me after you’ve moved on to Chadeng’s fleet.” He waggled his frazzled, gray brow. “At _least_ write to tell me what it’s like when you finally bed that pretty little fiancé. Spare no details!”

“It’s a relief that he _is_ pretty. Given how quick Ozai was to hand him off, I was fully expecting a cleft lip or - what’d you say? Dog-bat ugly?”

“You’re lucky it wasn’t the _crown_ prince’s son. That Iroh’s a nice guy, but not exactly a handsome one. If I recall correctly, that mate of his wasn’t anything special, either, before they passed.”

“Ah, but Iroh’s son never would have been an option. That boy’s an alpha. Heir to the throne.”

“ _Was_ an alpha, _was_ heir to the throne. Didn’t you hear he just died?”

“No way.” Of all the gossip that he had heard at the ceremony, this tidbit had managed to slip by Zhao.

“Yes - and as a result, Prince Iroh is probably going to abandon his siege on Ba Sing Se.”

Zhao pulled a face. “We’re just giving up on capturing the Earth Kingdom capital? Over _one_ soldier?”

Admiral Shu scoffed. “Yeah, but it’s his son!”

“That’s completely irrational. If he’s so sensitive that one loss could make him abandon a siege after _two years_ wasted, he can go home and leave the effort to someone who knows what they’re doing.”

Shu whistled. “You’re a harsh man, Zhao. Spirits bless that fiancé of yours if he ever steps out of line. Although earlier, you were wondering if there was a catch to your arrangement and… well, I confess I didn’t just come over here to razz you about the toast.”

Zhao frowned. “Of course. What is it?”

Shu leaned in so close, Zhao could see the repulsive smear of beer foam on his mustache. He stage whispered, “Rumor has it that Ozai’s son hasn’t officially presented yet.”

Zhao nearly dropped his drink. That was it - that was what had been off about their meeting. He’d so trusted the royal family that it hadn’t sunken in, but the thing that had been nagging at the back of his mind was the fact that the boy had been totally absent of scent. The clothes and the hair suddenly made more sense - he hadn’t had the mark of an adult omega because he wasn’t one! At least, not yet.

Heat rose into Zhao’s throat. “Then why the hell are they marrying him off to me?! He could be anything!”

“Apparently, Ozai had a physician brought to the palace to determine his kids’ second sex. That’s why they’re so sure of his status,” Shu explained.

“They can do that, now? Then why doesn’t everyone go that route?”

“Personally, I had the same question. At that point you might as well trust that old superstitious nonsense - what is it, turmeric and a copper pot?” Admiral Shu laughed. “Guess this celebration may have been a little premature, eh?”

Rage boiled up inside of Zhao with such force that a Fire Nation banner he was standing near instantly caught ablaze. The men who noticed it shouted and flung their glasses to put it out - but they held wine, not water, so the blaze only worsened. Even Admiral Shu seemed bewildered by the turn of events, and immediately tried to bend the fire into a more controlled state, but his inebriation made it difficult. The owners and drunkards alike were shouting as they struggled to contain the fire, but Zhao paid them no mind as he stormed out of the bar. He needed to make sure every loose end was tied, and as soon as possible.

* * *

Ursa was keenly aware of the fact firebenders could sap heat from a room, and wondered if that’s what Ozai was doing now; punctuating his point by making the room go frigid. Although it had taken years to see past the verbal and physical violence, she had become an expert in the many other manipulative tactics he employed beneath the surface of conversations, where she could barely divine. Understanding his many manipulations didn’t help her stop them, but it helped her retain her sanity, at least.

She must have gone silent for too long. Ozai cleared his throat. “Do you understand what I have told you?”

Her voice trembled as she spoke, but she would not allow herself to trade in what she needed to say for something more appeasing. She was angry. She was scared. “You’re telling me that you got greedy. You wanted to depose Iroh in his moment of greatest sorrow, and as punishment, your father wants you to pay in the blood of your oldest son.” A pause as she swallowed. “If I don’t do this for you, he will kill Zuko.”

Ozai’s face crinkled with disgust. “Your hostility is unnecessary.”

She let out a humorless laugh. Why should she hold back? He’d already told her that the second she completed his request, he wanted her gone. Forever. That he didn’t trust her not to do the same to him as he was asking her to do to Azulon now.

“Will you do as I’ve asked, or not?” Ozai demanded.

Ursa pictured Zuko just this morning, his expression forlorn as she smoothed the dark hairs out of his face, and how as she did so, she had been struck with a strange feeling of deja vu. She thought of what she had needed to hear when she was his age, in the exact same situation, and leaned in to tell him that he still had a choice.

The last thing she ever said to her son was going to be a lie.

“Before I agree to do this for you, can I ask you for one last thing?” Ursa said.

Ozai scoffed. “I am already being more than generous.”

Yes, so generous as to never allow her to see her children ever again. She schooled her tone into a pleading one. “It won’t be much. Please. Zuko’s marriage-”

“Is the only reason I am amenable to saving him,” Ozai interrupted. “No matter how you may beg, he’s going to go through with it.”

“I know. I’m not asking you to let him out of it.” She swallowed to keep her voice steady. “But if it’s at all possible, I want you to give him a few more years before you force him to marry. Long engagements aren’t unheard of, and Zhao will be eager to pursue his naval career in the meantime. Just, please. Don’t make Zuko get married right away.”

Her only hope came from the fact that Ozai did not immediately respond in the negative. Perhaps his silence meant he was considering what she said seriously. Perhaps he was merely tricking her into believing so.

“May I ask why?” Ozai said.

“Sixteen is too young to be married. I know you say he isn’t a child, but he isn’t an adult, either. I just don’t think he’s ready yet.” She wanted Zuko to be free a little longer - maybe it would equip him with skills she hadn’t had when she found herself engaged to Ozai. Maybe Zuko would be able to define himself outside of his marriage. Maybe he’d learn to stand up for himself.

Or maybe she was just buying time before he befell the same fate she did. Earlier she’d told her son that there was no use in delaying the inevitable, but she had been wrong. Even a temporary freedom was better than none at all.

Ursa was expecting Ozai to berate her for coddling Zuko. But instead, he gave one short, affirmative nod. And so she clung to hope.

* * *

The streets of the capital were silent and dark. The further Zhao got from the noise of the bar, the more he realized that this errand may be impossible to complete so late into the night. Still, he made sure to stop every person he came across, asking after shops that dealt in herbal remedies and the like. People flinched when he called out to them - a drunk soldier cornering you in the dark was rarely a good thing - but he sent them on their way as soon as he’d learned what he wanted. 

The first shop he tried was, predictably, closed. The second was, too, but a helpful old tramp had told him about the side door, left unlocked, which led up a staircase to the door of an apartment where the shop owners lived. He pounded on the door until a bony old woman answered.

She squinted up at him. “Do naval commanders commonly do their shopping at the witching hour?”

“Captain, actually. You flatter me.” Although he was still a little dizzy with drink, he leaned on the door jamb not to steady himself, but to prevent her from shutting the door again. “I need something, and I’ve heard you can help me.”

“It must be urgent, for you to elaborate in such detail,” she said, not without snark. “May I make myself presentable, at least, before I unlock my shop?”

As revenge for summoning her at such a late hour, she made him wait. He was ready to start pounding on the door again when she finally emerged, draped in witchy fabrics, her hair pinned into a bun with an assortment of odd baubles and trinkets. She was hunched with age but seemed to move without difficulty as they made their way down the stairs into the shop.

Zhao hadn’t made a habit of dealing with apothecaries and witch doctors, but had, through one way or another, created an image in his mind of a cluttered old hovel, where potions and tinctures were haphazardly strewn about, and taxidermied animals stared glassily from the walls. Needless to say, when the old woman illuminated the lamps in her shop, he was surprised to see it was quite pristine, with wares carefully aligned on well-labelled shelves. Granted, there was still a dried lizard or two in a jar, but the old woman had managed to make the selection look respectable. She sat down behind the counter.

“What are you looking for?” she asked. “To ease pain? Cure a fever?” She sniffed the air. “A hangover remedy?”

“I want something that can force an omega into heat.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What for? Is your mate struggling to conceive?”

Zhao shook his head. “The omega in question is still a teenager and hasn’t presented yet.”

She scowled. “I suppose I won’t ask why you’re trying to force a teenager into heat.”

He scowled back. “We’re engaged. I’m just trying to ensure that I’m getting what I was promised.” He paused to consider, and his tone shifted. “That is, if what I’m asking for is even possible.”

The old woman leaned back in her chair, tapping her chin. “...We tend to think of the rut as a reaction that ‘follows,’ and the heat as the cycle that is ‘fixed.’ But this is a misunderstanding. Sex is a balance between two partners and their desires. Just as an omega can send their mate into a rut, it’s possible for an alpha to send their mate into heat.”

Zhao blinked. “So you’re telling me to just… fuck him?”

“Not necessarily. An omega that has never presented will likely need something potent to trigger a heat.” She stood, now, and made her way over to a shelf. Carefully, she scanned the labels until she came to a brown glass bottle the size of her thumb. She plucked it off the shelf and showed it to Zhao.

“You will take a piece of clothing you’ve worn recently - nothing you’ve allowed anyone else to wear or touch, and obviously something that hasn’t been washed. You don’t need to be vulgar about it; a glove or even a hair tie will do. Then you will put three drops of this compound on the clothing item and let it sit. You will want to seal it in an air-tight container when you deliver it to him, or the scent will attract the attention of every alpha and omega you pass on the street.”

Zhao reached for the tincture she held. “What is it?”

She kept it just out of his grasp. “Pheromones extracted from a camelephant. Enormously powerful. You must not break this or use too much - the scent will be overwhelming. This bottle alone is powerful enough to send every adult omega in a half-mile into heat, and every alpha into a blind rage.”

Finally, she handed it to him. Zhao cradled it in his palm as if it could explode without the slightest warning. “How much?”

“Fifty silver, plus a ten percent tip for being woken at an ungodly hour.”

He cringed. That was more than he’d spent on drinks for the whole crew. “What if I return what I don’t use?”

“We could arrange for you to get some of your money back. But I still need the fifty-five silver as a down-payment.”

It was steep, but if it worked, it would be well worth it. Zhao paid her what she was owed.

* * *

Sunlight streamed into Zuko’s room and cast it in a hazy, yellow glow that roused him from sleep. He tried to bury himself in the dark of his covers, but that first September chill wafted through the window and sank deep into the silk sheets, until he was forced to get up out of bed. However, as he approached the window, he realized it was still locked shut. The chill was actually coming from his open bedroom door.

He didn’t remember leaving it open. He walked over to close it, pausing when he reached the handle and his mother’s face flashed in his mind. He thought he’d just had a particularly vivid dream about her last night - perhaps she’d actually come to visit him?

Well. He was up, now. He might as well start his day. Zuko went about cleaning himself up, and then made his way into the dining room, keeping an eye out for his mother as he did so. He didn’t see her. Meanwhile, the servants were so busy rushing to and fro that they did not ask if he wanted anything. Strange. He was hungry, but didn’t want to bother them, so he hovered until an older maid finally stopped to ask if he’d had something to eat.

When she’d returned from the kitchen with some rice porridge, Zuko decided to broach the subject of the turmoil. “Are you all alright? You seem like you have a lot to do today.”

“We’re preparing a feast - the order came from your father very early this morning.”

“A feast? What for?”

“He didn't elaborate.” The maid wiped some sweat from her forehead. “We think it may be due to your uncle returning, sir.”

That made enough sense that Zuko didn’t question it further. In any case, he could ask his mother when he finally saw her. When he finished eating, he lingered a little longer before accepting that perhaps she’d already eaten, and started to search for her.

By the time Zuko had passed through every room of the Lesser Hall and not seen a single member of his family, he began to grow suspicious. Had they been called to some meeting without him? Maybe another audience with the Fire Lord? Why was he being excluded? But his suspicion soured when he began to question the servants. Azula had left for bending lessons in the city just an hour before, and Ozai was in the Great Hall on some errand - but no one had seen or heard from Ursa since the night before. 

Zuko was about to ask one of the servants to go to the Great Hall and search for her, but he remembered their business with the feast, and decided to go himself. As he walked out into the chilly, sun-drenched morning, the vision of his mother’s visit that night wavered on the edge of his memory. He strained to remember a location, a goal, but she hadn’t told him where she was going or what she was doing, if indeed she had left of her own accord. She’d said - what was it? She’d said she’d loved Zuko, and that no matter what-

His blood turned to ice in his veins as he remembered his mother’s last words.

She’d said that no matter what, she hoped Zuko wouldn’t forget her. 

Terrified, Zuko broke out into a run across the palace yard, crying out for Ursa as he did so. When he arrived just outside the Great Hall, he stumbled to a stop. A carriage had pulled up alongside the building, and Zhao was standing just left of the entrance. To the right was Ozai, and a collection of servants kneeling by the grounded palanquin. It looked as though both men had only just stepped out of their respective transports.

Zhao must have seen the terror on Zuko’s face, because he stepped towards him, hand outstretched. “Hey - are you alright?” Meanwhile, Ozai said nothing, and looked at him with his usual impassivity.

Zuko had spent the better part of the morning with a growing unease that had now finally blossomed into a full-blown terror, and he desperately wanted to be comforted. Without even thinking, he ran and threw himself into Zhao’s arms. The act clearly surprised Zhao, as he gave a small jolt upon impact, but he quickly recovered, arms closing around the boy’s shoulders. 

“My mother,” Zuko gasped. “She’s gone - no one has seen her, I’m worried something happened!”

Zhao looked to Ozai in askance. After a pause, the prince turned to the team of men who had brought him along in the palanquin. “Call the guards. Have them search the grounds.”

Zhao frowned. “Do you think someone could’ve broken in?”

Frantic, Zuko shook his head. “The house looks fine, I haven’t seen any signs of a struggle! Nothing’s missing or moved, and there was no bl-” He paled, and covered his mouth with his hand. The only thing keeping him from collapsing where he stood were Zhao’s hands, steadying him. The embrace was only made awkward by some blocky, metal thing that Zhao was holding in his left hand.

Ozai looked upon the scene with a distaste. “There’s no need for hysterics. If Ursa is the only one missing, it’s likely that she left of her own accord.”

“Why would she?!” Zuko cried out. “There’s something wrong, I feel it-”

Perhaps reacting to the rage quickly surfacing in Ozai’s eyes, Zhao started to de-escalate things. “Hey, hey, it’ll be alright. Don’t get yourself into a panic.” He touched Zuko on the cheek, and turned his stricken face away from his father and towards Zhao, so they were now making eye contact. “I promise, we’re going to do everything we can to find her, okay?”

Zuko bit his lip and nodded. Zhao’s hand moved to his hair, smoothing it back from his face.

Ozai gave an audible sigh. “We can talk once you’ve gotten the boy to calm down. I will be expecting you in the emerald room.” He turned and made his way inside of the palace.

Zuko scrubbed at his eyes, ruing the tears he could feel stinging at the corners. “I - I’m sorry, I know I sound crazy-”

“It’s fine. Don’t apologize.” A warm hand kneaded his shoulder. “Just breathe.”

Zuko didn’t feel any calmer, but on top of being scared for his mother’s safety, he was now deeply embarrassed. He had accosted this… man he may or may not marry, but had agreed to marry, and did Zhao even _know_ that yet? Would he turn away from this arrangement now that Zuko had run panicking into his arms like some lunatic?

“By the way.” Zhao leaned down to his level. “I know it’s probably not what you want right now, but I brought you something.”

Zuko wiped his eyes and looked down at the gift being proffered. It was a silver box, about the size of a book, with a design in copper that zig-zagged across the lid. 

“Don’t let the box fool you - it’s nothing too elaborate. Just a token.” Zhao winked. “Don’t open it until you’re alone.”

The entire display made Zuko go into a stunned sort of quiet. He hadn’t been expecting this so soon after a panic attack. “Thank you,” he said, shakily, taking the box from Zhao. It was heavy, as expected, and cold from being carried around in the September chill. He ran his fingers over the copper design and felt the precise little grooves, and thought that it must have taken serious craftsmanship to devise. How much had this cost?

“...Will you really keep an eye out for my mother?”

“I’m sure your dad has the palace guard on it…” Zuko’s anguish must have been all over his face, because Zhao reconsidered. “I’ll mention it to my crew, and some people in town. Maybe she just stepped out for an errand and lost track of time.”

“Maybe.” But Zuko wasn’t convinced. Something in Ozai’s lack of a reaction hadn’t been a relief - perhaps he was reading too much into it, but by now he understood the minutiae of his father’s expressions, and he’d seemed too impassive, even for him. Almost like he’d been trying not to react.

Ozai knew more about his wife’s disappearance than he was letting on. Zuko was sure.

* * *

When the boy had been calmed down enough to return to the outer court, Zhao made his way inside the Great Hall. The delay would have made him more anxious, if not for how much more firmly it cemented the likelihood that this union would go forward. Surely Zuko wouldn’t _throw_ himself at Zhao (with his own father standing there as an alternative!) if he had decided not to go through with this marriage? Unless this was part of some elaborate game, and Ozai had wanted to see how Zhao would react to his son in turmoil?

An attendant pointed him towards the emerald room, and when Zhao finally arrived, he understood the namesake. While much of the royal palace he had seen was cast in the typical Fire Nation red, the walls of this room were painted a glittering, emerald green. It gave the light coming through the high windows a sickly tone, so that the royalty sitting before him was waxen like a corpse.

Ozai did not comment on the incident that had taken place outside. He got straight to the matter at hand. “Admiral Chadeng has reached out to me with a correction regarding the position she needs filled. She told me that while she has one ship in need of a captain, what she really needs to stabilize her fleet is another commander. She is curious if you would be amenable to this position.”

Zhao was stunned. He repeated, somewhat unbelieving, “She’s asking if I’m amenable to a promotion? Yes. Of course I am, yes.”

“There is... one contingency to be aware of.” Something flickered in Ozai’s gaze. “The ship in need of a commander, the Mengchong, cannot wait to disembark. You will have to leave immediately, and may be conscripted for up to two years.”

Here it was. The catch. Zhao swallowed, praying his voice would be steady when he spoke. It would not do to lose his temper on one of the most powerful men in the Fire Nation. “What will this mean regarding Zuko?”

“You may consider yourselves officially engaged. But we are not about to rush a royal wedding ceremony. You will fulfill your time with Admiral Chadeng in the northern fleet and return to marry Zuko when your goal has been fulfilled.”

Zhao’s relief was palpable; the marriage would go forward, and in the meantime, Ozai had provided him with collateral to make the wait worthwhile. Zhao searched his memory for the conversation he’d had with Admiral Chadeng just a few nights ago, trying to remember her initiative; so much had changed since then. “You mean the conquest of Omashu.”

A chilling smile crept onto Ozai’s lips. “Why, Commander, I believe that the other night we only talked about eliminating aid to Omashu.”

_Commander Zhao_ \- he was liking the sound of that more and more. “Yes, but I assume we won’t _leave_ it at that. We may not be able to invade the land-locked Omashu by sea, but rest assured I’m not coming home until it has fallen to the Fire Nation.”

Ozai seemed deeply pleased by this. After a pause, he said, “Would you like to be privy to some interesting news? No one else in the kingdom knows this, yet, but you’re family now, and I think you deserve to know before anyone else.”

A member of the family. The _royal_ family. Zhao swelled with pride. “Of course, sir.”

How to describe the expression on the prince’s face? If his features weren’t so severe, Zhao would almost call it glee, yet it was in direct contrast with the words he spoke next. “My father, the Fire Lord, has passed away.”

“I am so sorry for your loss, my prince.” It was no surprise, given the rumors that had been abound the other night, but… Why did it seem like Ozai had more to say?

“Yes, yes. The poor soul. It weighs on me terribly.” Ozai was practically grinning, now. “Luckily for me, we spent the last hours of his life reconciling our differences, having a heart-felt discussion on the fate of the kingdom and on my brother’s increasingly erratic behavior. Surely you’ve heard of his abandonment of Ba Sing Se, and the terrible business with his only son. Well - today is a day of mourning, but it happens that it is also one of celebration.”

Ozai paused for effect. Somehow, Zhao knew exactly what he was about to say.

“It seems my father wants me to take up the crown in Iroh’s stead. It’s a little unorthodox, but. Who am I to turn down my father’s final request?”

* * *

Maybe his little gift to Zuko had been a bit hasty, after all. Two years was more than enough time to confirm the boy’s status. Still, when he was let out at the volcanic expanse, Zhao stopped the servant who had transported him back and forth across the grounds. “I’d like it if you could keep an eye on something for me. If the prince, Zuko, goes into his first heat, can you send a messenger hawk to Commander Zhao of the Mengchong?”

From his pocket, he pulled a billfold of yuans, packed tightly together. The servant gave them a hungry look, but to his credit, he hesitated. “I don’t know if it’s right to sell information on the royal family…”

“I am the boy’s fiancé,” said Zhao. “I have a right to know everything about my own mate, so you wouldn’t be doing anything untoward.”

With a nod that was more to affirm himself than Zhao, the servant accepted the bribe. 

* * *

It was dark when Zuko finally returned to his room. He would have slammed the door shut hard enough to wake the palace if he had even an ounce of strength left. After all the insistence that he was over-reacting, after all the reassurances that his mother had simply stepped out and lost track of time, she had _still_ not turned up. They had searched the entire palace grounds, and even sent a couple of guards into the city - guards who Zuko saw milling around the palace again a mere _hour_ after they’d left with promises to locate his mother. He’d marched right up to them and demanded to know why they thought they were welcome to come home empty-handed.

“I’m sorry, sir,” one had insisted, “but your father wants us all to stay at the palace.”

That only made Zuko more furious. “And what does my father consider more important than the safety of his wife?”

The men traded nervous looks. “Not to downplay your concerns for your mother’s safety, my prince, but the matter of Fire Lord Azulon is of the utmost importance.”

Confusion somewhat cooled Zuko's anger. “What do you mean? What happened to my grandfather?”

And that is how Zuko learned of Azulon’s death. Not from his father, not even from his father’s personal messenger, but from a random pair of guards who had learned the news quite some time before him. 

With his father’s coronation consuming all the resources in the palace, Zuko had decided that he would go into the city and search for his mother himself. No carriages were available to take him to the gates, but he had fully intended to walk every mile over the volcanic expanse, if a group of guards hadn’t accosted him and told him to turn back. Apparently his father had been very clear on the fact that his children were to remain nearby for the ceremony. Zuko tried to argue that Azula had been in the city for hours, but the guards insisted that as soon as she returned from her lessons, she would be sequestered just as strictly.

Then Zuko had to deal with the humiliation of being dressed up for his father's coronation. While his mother could be anywhere, perhaps bound and gagged and being rapidly transported from the country, Zuko had been stuffed into absolutely absurd robes that dragged along the floor and were as heavy as lead. Azula, of course, got a militant-looking getup that wasn’t such a pain in the ass to move around in. She actually got pants, for spirits’ sake. 

Not that Zuko had complained to his father. Even if he were defiant enough to do so, they didn’t see each other again until the moment of the crowning, and even that was from a distance. Zuko didn’t get within earshot of him for the rest of the day.

Zuko now stood in the center of his room and began to pull patiently at the silken ties that held the elaborate mess of a costume together. One by one, he let the layers of clothing fall into a heap on the floor. The robes were a perfect, pearl white, with red and orange leaves painstakingly embroidered all over it to create the impression of a forest in autumn. It certainly stood out against the bare decoration of his room. The whole ensemble probably cost more money than servants who had dressed him would ever see in their lifetime. A waste. He ran a hand violently enough through his hair that his topknot came loose and his hair fell about his shoulders. 

He still had no idea what had happened to his mother, and was equally at a loss for what he could do next. He should give up for the night, at least, but he didn’t think he could sleep while haunted by all the possibilities. With a sigh, he let himself fall backwards onto his bed, and was startled by freezing cold metal hitting his naked skin. He scrambled to see what it was, and recognized the elaborate copper design on the metal box. The gift from Zhao. He hadn’t had a chance to open it.

Zhao had said to wait until he was alone, and he was alone now. He went to remove the lid, but it was stuck, no matter how hard he pulled. Frustrated, he squeezed the box, only to feel the copper design give way under his fingers. Ah ha - a latch! 

With all the trouble it’d taken to open, Zuko expected jewelry or a blade worth a small fortune to be inside, but it was just as Zhao had said. A token. Nestled inside the box was the belt of a Fire Nation naval uniform. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t even an identifying crest on the buckle, although he lifted it to his face for a closer look.

The moment he did so, an intense wave of vertigo crashed over him, making his vision swirl. However, as quickly as it came, it disappeared. Dazed, he ran his fingers along the fabric - it was in fact fabric, and not a leather material as he’d assumed. He could imagine slotting it around Zhao’s waist, bringing himself flush against the other man as he did so. 

His own fantasy caught him by surprise. But the more he thought about it, the more he wondered why he hadn’t looked more closely at Zhao before. The man was the only romantic prospect he’d ever had, and one of the few alphas he’d met of equal social standing. It wasn’t as if Zhao was bad-looking - he had a strong jaw, and he was tall - significantly taller than Zuko, which had felt reassuring, sure, when he was wrapped around him earlier, but in retrospect now felt... virile. _Imposing_ , even, not so much in a frightening way, but such that Zuko now found himself aching to be held again. And his voice - Zuko had liked how low his voice had gone, reassuring as it had been, lacking the sharp edge his father’s had. 

Earlier, the morning chill had seemed to herald the beginning of fall, but it must have been a fluke. Even sitting mostly naked in his chamber, Zuko noticed the temperature crawling gradually upwards. He wiped his forehead and wondered at the source of the scent that was growing stronger and stronger - it was heady, unlike one he had ever detected before, and yet it made him think of Zhao. Commander Zhao. Again, the image of him in uniform flashed across Zuko’s mind, in stark contrast to his own nakedness. He wondered what it would be like to be braced against him, now, the rough fabric of a Fire Nation uniform brushing against his own vulnerable skin-

He realized, with a jolt, that he was aroused. Yet it had taken some time to settle in, because it came from a place that was… deeper, somehow, than he was used to. Zuko fanned himself, trying to clear his head. There were more important things to be thinking about right now. But the more he tried to focus, the more it seemed his skin was electric - every waft of air and brush against the covers overwhelmed him. He found himself gasping for air, as if he’d just been chased for miles, and he was hot. He was unbearably, achingly hot.

And so it was that, after the single most traumatic day of his life to date, Zuko descended into his first heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zuko was faced with either seeking comfort from his own actual dad or someone who's essentially a stranger and was like "i'll take my chances with the stranger"


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iroh comes home.

When Iroh crossed the sea into Fire Nation territory, he had expected to feel a great weight lifted. For miles across land and water, he had been carrying the burden of all that had happened in Ba Sing Se like a giant slab of stone on his back. But when the fog lifted, and he could see the peak of Caldera standing steadfast in the distance, he found the weight didn’t waver. In the moment, it seemed simply to reflect the power of his grief, but later he would consider this realization an omen. For he was sure that the messenger hawk that would bring news of his father’s death had been just within his line of sight, gliding towards the ship on a cold September wind.

Reading the letter over, he barely registered that Ozai had been named Fire Lord in his place. It seemed an inconsequential detail, when he had just discovered that he had lost his son and his father in a matter of days. If Azulon wanted Ozai to succeed him, then fine. Iroh would have no part in an ensuing power struggle. He had come home to mourn and that is what he intended to do.

When they reached the port, people crowded to greet the soldiers and welcome them home. Mothers closed their arms around sons who had, in their absence, grown so tall as to dwarf them; lovers and friends who had been separated now embraced. Iroh was greeted by a solemn beta dressed in the uniform of the palace guard, who led the way to a far too extravagant carriage. The ride to the palace was lonely and quiet.

The happy energy at the docks had seemed appropriate, and was exactly the encouragement Iroh’s men had needed after such a long and fruitless campaign. But he couldn’t explain it… here, at the palace, it was just as joyous, yet the mood seemed utterly vulgar in comparison. They rode past bustling servants carrying idols and trinkets and plates of delicacies - gifts, perhaps, or simply banquet preparations. As Iroh had understood from the letter, Ozai’s coronation had happened about a week ago, yet the palace still looked to be in the throes of celebration.

Ozai was waiting for him in the reception hall, along with Ursa and Azula. Iroh gave a humorless smile at their extravagant clothes, silk and gold-lined, a great contrast to the faded tunic he’d donned in mourning. “Everyone is dressed so nicely - I feel so dowdy in comparison.” He looked around, puzzled. “Where is Zuko?”

“Uh - right here.”

The smoky voice came from the direction of the person he’d assumed was Ursa, and upon giving a second, more careful look, Iroh realized he had been mistaken. Spirits. The cheekbones were a little sharper, and the hair not quite long enough, but Zuko was the spitting image of his mother, down to the morose note in his smile. The realization of how much of his life had passed while Iroh was gone made his heart clench.

“I’m sorry,” Iroh recovered, “you’ve grown so much, and these old eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

If Zuko realized who Iroh had mistaken him for, he politely declined to comment. His smile took on greater warmth. “Welcome home, Uncle. We missed you.”

Said with feeling. Overcome, Iroh pulled the boy into a ferocious hug - and then, not wanting her to feel neglected, he embraced Azula, who muttered a similar sentiment to Zuko, although with less enthusiasm.

Ozai gave a vague nod in Iroh’s direction, but made no move to get any closer. “Welcome home, brother. I hope you found your transport comfortable.”

“I was so deep in my thoughts, I barely noticed the quality. You probably could’ve sent a wheelbarrow for me, and I’d be fine.”

“Charming as ever,” Ozai said. Iroh caught the cringe in his brother’s tone. “Shall I have someone take you to your room?”

Iroh quirked an eyebrow. “I know I have been away for some time, but I think I remember the way to my own room.”

There was a smugness in Ozai’s responding smile. “Ah - apologies, brother, but given recent developments, we’ve rearranged the living quarters. I hope you understand. You’ve been moved to the Lesser Hall, with Zuko.”

Iroh was not one to complain, even when his brother was being outrageous. He threw a friendly arm around Zuko’s shoulders. “Wonderful! I get to be housed with my favorite nephew.” It was not lost on him how Zuko had been adorned in the wide sleeves and long robe usually reserved for grown omegas, nor how his scent had changed. Iroh tried not to think about what it meant, that he and Zuko were being housed in the Lesser Hall while Ozai and presumably Azula took residence in the Great Hall. It was clear that a line was being drawn in the sand, and Iroh did not have the energy to rebuke it. Curiously, though Azula was dressed in the garb of an alpha princess (more military-style, with the sharp shoulder pads), she had a juvenile scentlessness about her.

After he had forced a little more conversation out of his mostly stiff and unwilling participants (bless Zuko for trying), Iroh made an excuse to retire to his chamber. However, before he had crossed the full length of the reception hall, the double doors crashed open, and a servant called out, “Delivery from the noble estate of Commander Zhao, of Kirachu!” Iroh thought he saw Zuko tilt his head in interest.

“Bring it in,” Ozai ordered.

The servant blanched. “Are you sure, my lord? It is quite large, and somewhat…” He fumbled for a polite word. “...Ostentatious.”

Ozai’s eyes narrowed. “Are you disobeying my direct order?”

Pale, the servant bowed in deference to Ozai’s demand. He ran out of the room, and a minute later he and seven other men could be seen panting and puffing as they dragged and pushed an enormous golden idol on a wheeled cart. It looked like a wild animal restrained, for they had bound it in ropes so they could more easily direct it.

“It’s _hideous!_ ” Azula cried out with a delighted cackle. Zuko turned the color of a dead fish.

It was an enormous statue of a tiger monkey, carved out of solid gold and towering far above them all. It was more stylized than realistic in nature, given its size and the swirling patterns that made up its stripes, but it still looked as though it could leap to life and attack them at any moment. Its lips curled back from its face in a feral, ugly sneer, and its limbs poised as if to attack. The clawed hands were unsettlingly human-like. Zuko seemed unable to look directly at the statue, cringing away from it in mortification while his sister crowed with laughter.

The servant who had announced its arrival had helped push it inside, and after catching his breath, came back to the front of the group with a scroll, and addressed Ozai again: “There is a note; Master Wei wishes to clarify that this gift is intended to celebrate the union of his brother to Prince Zuko, and was procured before the news of Fire Lord Ozai’s coronation. In honor of the Fire Lord’s ascent, a separate and befitting gift will be sent soon.”

“Hopefully in the form of something more useful than this eyesore,” Ozai said, drily. “Write back to Master Wei and remind him of Zhao’s agreement regarding order in Kirachu. I expect him to take care of things while his brother is abroad.”

“A union?” This tidbit was enough that Iroh recovered from the stupefaction the statue’s golden glare produced. “Zuko, you’re getting married?” 

His nephew turned a shade of red to match his robes. “Yes.”

Iroh clapped the boy on the shoulder. “Well, that’s wonderful! Congratulations. This family has seen so much sorrow as of late; a wedding will do us some good.”

Iroh noticed something wistful tug at the corner of Zuko’s mouth. “Thank you. It won’t be for a while... Zhao has to serve out his term in the northern fleet, first.” 

Perhaps the difficulty of their separation was weighing on him? It couldn’t be easy, being engaged to someone who was still serving in the navy. All that time and distance.

“You’ll have to tell me how you met,” Iroh said. He committed the name, rank, and estate to memory - he didn’t recognize it, but some old friend in town would. He’d have to ask later. Hopefully this Zhao was deserving of his nephew, although the fact this man was already a commander made Iroh nervous about the difference in age between the two. 

“This old man needs some rest. I will talk to you all at dinner.” He waved. “Send Ursa my regards.”

As the attendant showed him out, Iroh noticed, once again, that a stricken expression had crossed his nephew’s face. Azula and Ozai remained unmoved.

* * *

Iroh slept dreamlessly for hours and awoke to a soft, twilight glow. He rose from the tangled sheets and rubbed his eyes, blearily taking in the unfamiliar surroundings in a way he’d earlier been too tired to do.

Counting the steps it took him to cross to the screen doors on the opposite wall, it seemed his new bedroom was half the size of his previous one. This was no trouble; for years, he’d felt his old bedroom was too spacious for just him. It was better suited to a couple. He also liked the view of this room better; the Lesser Hall was attached to a well-manicured garden with plum blossoms and a pond full of turtle-ducklings. He greeted them politely before shutting the double-doors that lead out to the garden. The natural sunlight coming through the rice paper screen would make for a lovely wakeup call in the morning.

He was not overly concerned with his earthly possessions, and would not have cared if Ozai had disposed of some of his things when moving them from one building to the next. But as he walked the perimeter of his new room, brushing his hand idly over the cluttered shelves, the dresser, the desk, it seemed everything was in its place. He opened a drawer and found an empty vial on its side. He sniffed it and cringed - Gemsbok bull oil, no doubt. He laughed at his own youthful wastefulness and made a note to visit town and do some shopping. 

Spurred on by nostalgia, he moved to the grand, ornately carved chest at the end of his bed. He had seized it in one of his earliest Earth Kingdom campaigns; in fact, it was a pleasant forest green, with golden geometric patterns across the lid typical of the nation’s aesthetic. It was so large that when Lu Ten was only five or six, he could fit inside. Iroh had made a point never to latch it shut or put anything heavy on top because his son had so loved to hide inside it, and would jump out at his parents whenever they walked past. Such a funny boy! Here, on the inner wall, was a little drawing Lu Ten had done, right on the wood. A priceless antique from the Earth Kingdom, and he had irrevocably left his mark upon it, with a scribble of a face no larger than Iroh’s thumb. He brushed his fingers gently across it, feeling the grain of the wood and remembering how Lu Ten’s mother had been so horrified to find it. Such an earful she had given that boy. 

Tears were beginning to crowd at the corners of his eyes, and he wiped them away before they could fall free. 

There was a knock at the inner door, leading to the hallway. He composed himself and stood up, brushing away the imaginary dust accumulated from kneeling on the floor. “Who is it?” he called out.

“May I come in?” Zuko’s voice. 

Iroh went to the door and ushered the boy inside. His nephew had changed into a shirt and pants, and had scooped his hair back up into a phoenix tail. He looked much more comfortable than he had in that stuffy costume earlier. 

“Can I get you anything, Uncle?”

“No, I’m fine.” Truthfully, he could use some tea, but that was more a job for a kitchen boy than a prince.

Zuko nodded, but didn’t say more. He just hovered expectantly, wringing his hands. Iroh got the sense that he had wanted to talk about something specific, but had now lost the nerve.

“Is something weighing on you, Zuko?”

The boy hesitated. “...You’ve had a long journey. I don’t want to bother you if you’re tired.”

“Nonsense. My afternoon nap rejuvenated me.” Iroh went over and sat on the bed, then patted the spot next to him. “Come here.”

Zuko closed the space between them with urgency. “It’s my mother - she’s been missing for more than a week, and no one seems worried.”

The news shocked Iroh. Certainly there’d been no sign of such strife when he’d greeted the family earlier. “What happened? Was she hurt?”

“I genuinely don’t know,” Zuko said. “There wasn’t anything stolen or broken around the palace, she was just - gone.”

“When did this happen?”

“The same day Grandfather died. I didn’t know that at first; I just knew that when I woke up, Mom was gone. I searched for her everywhere here at the palace, and I _tried_ to search the city, but the guards wouldn’t let me leave before Father’s coronation, and then-” He sucked in a startled breath. “...I wasn’t able to look for her more. I had to trust Father, but I don’t know that he’s looking all that hard. He gets angry every time I ask. I know it’s annoying, but I just want to know if there are any leads…”

What could possibly be annoying about a boy asking after his missing mother? Iroh knew it wouldn’t go over well, but he really must talk to his brother about the way he was treating his children.

Ursa’s disappearance was deeply troubling to discover, and its proximity to their father’s death could not be a coincidence. Furthermore, it occurred to Iroh that Ozai hadn’t told him how their father had died. He ruminated over whether or not to ask Zuko, but the boy would have mentioned if something violent had befallen his grandfather the same day his mother went missing. It was just too salient a detail. Bringing it up now would be needlessly frightening, if it wasn’t a connection Zuko had made himself.

“I’ll talk to my brother about it,” Iroh promised. “I need to talk to him one on one, anyway.” He gently took the boy’s hand. “I’m very sorry about your mother, but we will do whatever we can. We’re in this together, Zuko.”

“Thank you, Uncle.” Zuko clasped his hand back, ferociously. “So much happened while you were gone. I don’t even mean the last two years - I mean just in the last _month_. Ever since we heard about…” He bit his lip. “...Ever since Lu Ten passed, it’s been a whirlwind of bad luck.”

The mention of his son’s name made Iroh’s chest ache. He changed the subject. “But you’ve gotten engaged. Isn’t that good luck?”

Zuko shrugged, still avoiding Iroh’s gaze. “I guess. I know Father wouldn’t have asked me to do this if it wasn’t for the benefit of the Fire Nation, but... I always thought I’d give back to our country like you and Lu Ten, by proving myself in battle. I thought that at this age, I’d be training to be a warrior and learning how to lead. After all, boys are most likely to end up alphas, but I just wasn’t lucky enough. And now I’m waiting to get married so I can be useful.”

A political marriage. Iroh felt foolish for assuming Ozai would give his son any other choice, given the way he had snatched Ursa up just for her bloodline. The treatment of omegas could be so ugly, and listening to this boy talk about his status made Iroh sick with sadness; he couldn’t imagine a father boxing his own child in with such rigid social rules.

He spoke with feeling. “War and marriage are not the only ways we serve our country, and serving our country is not how we, as people, become happy and whole. You will find what makes you feel fulfilled, Zuko, whether it is within the confines of what society deems ‘proper’ for an omega or not.”

“I hope so.” But even as the boy said it, he was shaking his head in disbelief.

* * *

Even before his rise to Fire Lord, Ozai had made a habit of storming away from conversations he didn’t want to have with the claim that he had a meeting to attend. He was always running off to “meetings” with assorted generals, admirals, and noblemen, usually when the person he was actually talking to had said something he did not want to hear. This excuse worked on his wife and children, who cowered from his imperious tantrums, but it was never enough to shake Iroh. “Who?” he’d ask, and then, when Ozai reluctantly answered, “Oh, Admiral Shinu! A lovely man. I’ve been meaning to catch up. Did you know that his husband grows the most beautiful jasmine at home? It’s quite a sight!” And he would insert himself into any business Ozai had, dutifully meddling until Ozai relented and asked what the hell he wanted.

Iroh had expected to take this approach now, but to his surprise, Ozai agreed to talk without any resistance, going so far as to order his attendant to reschedule a previous engagement with a General Something or Other. 

“I’m touched you would make time for your big brother,” Iroh gushed. “Say, would you call that nice servant back? I think this conversation would be best accompanied with some tea.”

Ozai rolled his eyes, but did not insult his brother’s taste. He just did as asked, summoning the servant again with a rude snap of the fingers and ordering him to bring whatever Iroh wanted.

When they had settled, Iroh broached the topic of their father’s memorial. “He would want something dramatic, but also austere.”

Ozai nodded. “Our father wasn’t exactly a fan of art. I already told the smiths not to use any dragon iconography. No elaborate decoration at all.”

“Exactly. His tomb should be plain, but very imposing. Something the local kids will dare each other to enter.” Despite himself, Iroh chuckled at the thought. “I wasn’t aware you had already employed someone to build it. Did you draw up plans, yet? May I see?”

“I can arrange for the two of us to meet with the architect.”

Iroh nodded the affirmative, and paused to lift his cup and drink. Ah, there was no doubt in his mind that a particular servant had brewed this tea - Chio, she was called. She was approximately 90 years old and had worked in the palace Iroh’s entire life. No one made a better cup, except perhaps Iroh himself. But he had learned from the best.

He set his cup down and thought carefully about how to proceed with Ozai. “I have been meaning to ask you how our father died. Was it a peaceful death?”

“You could say so. He died in bed,” said Ozai. “I was right beside him.”

Iroh nodded. “I’m glad he wasn’t alone. It was just you? The rest of the family didn’t gather?”

Ozai’s eyes narrowed. “It was just me.”

The hostility in Ozai’s glare made Iroh waver, but only for a moment. “He’d been ailing for some time, I suppose?”

“Yes. We had a number of doctors investigate his condition, but their best guess was simply old age.”

Iroh could just picture Azulon, his body hunched with age and dwarfed by the extravagance of his own bedroom, asking for his oldest son. Guilt lay like a stone in his stomach. “I’m sorry. I wish I’d been here. Only a few more days…”

“Yes. Well.” Ozai shifted, perhaps uncomfortable with the depth of feeling in Iroh’s voice. “Death cannot be scheduled to our convenience.”

“I know that.” Iroh paused to take a sip. All the while, he could feel Ozai’s eyes boring into him. It seemed his brother was always approaching conversation in the most unnerving and cat-like ways; when people were earnest for his attention, he would turn his body away, and talk dismissively over a shoulder, if he acknowledged the other person at all. When the other person was uncomfortable in his presence, perhaps reluctant to speak, he would stare at them head-on, never matching the lapse in conversation where people would ordinarily look briefly away, or filling an unsure silence with comfortable small-talk to help recapture the flow of conversation. He’d just... silently stare, as he was with Iroh now.

Iroh might as well come out with it. “I am deeply hurt by our father’s loss, but my sorrow extends to you, brother. Zuko tells me that your wife is also missing. Ursa is a lovely woman, and it’s terrible to think anything might have happened to her.”

“Yes, well. I don’t have time to mourn,” Ozai said. “I have a nation to run.”

Iroh frowned. “As I understand it, the situation with Ursa does not yet call for mourning. What actions are you taking to track her down?”

“There’s a team that’s on it.”

“What team? Can the boy speak to them?”

The sharp lines in Ozai’s face deepened. “They would make for a poor search team if they were still on the palace premises. They will report back to me if they find anything. They haven’t yet.”

“And who do you have on this assignment? Lii? Jaze? Miroh?”

Ozai waved him off. “You can stop showing off your ability to memorize the names of servants. The guards under our employ have changed since you last lived here, it is no one you would recognize.”

“Zuko is anxious to know more.”

“As am I. But I promise you, they haven’t any more information.”

Iroh paused. “It is strange that she went missing the same night our father died.” Ozai said nothing. Iroh breathed a great sigh. “You won’t engage with this line of thinking at all?”

“No.” Ozai’s voice was as rigid as stone. “It is nothing more than a terrible coincidence, and I would thank you not to make such accusations again.”

“How can you be sure…”

“Iroh. Not just as your brother, but as your _ruler_ , I am asking you to drop it.” Ozai’s jaw went rigid. “I will not have the capital descend into chaos because there are rumors surrounding my wife’s disappearance. If we all pursue her with hysteria, drumming up attention, then people _will_ assume there was a coup, and I will _not_ have my country descend into disorder and my father’s final wishes cast with suspicion just because Ursa decided to run out on her children on the same night he died.”

“You think she left of her own accord.” That she had been involved in their father’s death was a stretch of the imagination, for sure, but the alternative did not sound like the devoted mother that Iroh had known. 

Ozai’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Have you gone deaf? I told you to drop the subject.”

“I’m sorry,” said Iroh, after a beat. “I know it must be painful to talk about her. I only want to help you, Ozai. We’re a family, and we can help one another weather these tragedies if we only communicate.”

Ozai massaged his brow. “ _Really_ , Iroh, the best way you can help me right now is to get Zuko to stop badgering me with these questions about his mother. I am tired of it.”

“He’s just worried for her well-being.”

“Azula is perfectly composed.”

_Azula is a sociopath_ , Iroh thought, but he immediately chastised himself for it. She was a difficult child, but a child nonetheless. “I suspect she is suffering through Ursa’s absence in her own, albeit quieter way.”

“Then Zuko would do well to emulate her.” 

Iroh gave a deep sigh and pursued the matter no further. He wished Ozai had said something, anything at all to quell his worries. Instead they had grown, now looming on the periphery of his mind like storm clouds on the horizon.

“Let’s talk about something nicer,” Iroh tried. “This fiancé of Zuko’s. Is he a good man?”

“Good enough.”

Iroh gave a wan smile. “...That he is a commander is certainly impressive. Would I recognize any of his feats? How long has he been in the military?”

Ozai scowled. “I know what you are trying to do.”

Iroh massaged his brow. “Ozai-”

“You are making veiled comments about his age. ‘How _long_ has he been in the military,’” Ozai mocked. “If you _must_ know, Iroh, he is twenty-six. That sets him ten years apart from Zuko, which, if you aren’t completely senile, you should remember is the exact span of time between you and _your_ precious mate.”

Iroh took a drink from his cup, long enough to drain it. It was an excuse to compose himself before he responded, and indeed, he felt the warm, relaxing tea spread through him, quelling the irritation that had threatened to burn him up. Even in old age, younger siblings never failed to push at your buttons. “...I remember, Ozai. And I have no veiled comments. I only wanted to change the subject, as you asked me to.” Iroh did not bring up the fact that while they had been ten years apart, he and his wife had met when they were both adults. Equals. He knew his argument would fall upon deaf ears; their own mother had been a child of thirteen when she met their father, and there were leagues and leagues of examples in the royal family that Ozai could throw in his face.

Ozai’s brow would not unfurrow itself. He ranted on. “You have plenty of complaints for how I conduct myself as a husband and father; I suppose you have criticisms of my leadership, too? Would you like to tell me how you’d have negotiated the release of prisoners at Rarin, while you’re at it?”

“I am not interested in your throne, Ozai,” Iroh said with finality. “I am too old to rule, and our father made his preferences clear, besides. You can stop obsessing over my opinions - you cared very little what I thought before, and you should care even less now.”

At this, Ozai seemed to finally calm himself. But the damage was done, and the conversation had been thoroughly unproductive. Iroh made a note to investigate both Ursa’s disappearance and this Commander Zhao’s reputation in private. He’d have to be careful not to rankle Ozai’s suspicions.

* * *

As he watched Iroh leave his chambers, offering a merry wave to each guard he passed, Ozai could feel the cup in his hand heating to a slow boil. 

It seemed he had underestimated the questions Ursa’s absence would generate. Zuko alone would have been easy enough to maintain control of, but Iroh was another matter; he would doubtlessly ignore Ozai’s warnings not to meddle. 

Ozai would have to prepare a story. Something that would quell the questions surrounding Ursa once and for all. As unlikely as it may be, the only thing worse than Iroh and Zuko drumming up suspicion around her disappearance would be if they actually succeeded in tracking her down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when we think about arranged marriages, we tend to focus on the bride's dowry, but i was reading in a lot of customs that men's families were also expected to provide an engagement gift of some sort to the bride's family. i liked the idea, so i threw it in


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iroh sets out to learn more about Zuko’s fiancé, but ends up looking out for Azula. Zuko has a nasty experience that leads to a confrontation between Iroh and Ozai.

Ursa’s trail was as cold as the South Pole winds. The guards were unable to identify the members of her personal protection when asked, each claiming to be too new to name names. The servant girls and footmen were hardly more helpful; no one could (or would) tell Iroh who Ursa’s friends were, where she liked to spend her time, or even what her behavior was like on the day she disappeared. Prod as he might, questions surrounding her always gave way to nervous tics and poor eye contact, before the recipient of Iroh’s inquiries would insist that they had other orders to undertake and must get going. 

And so, having hit a unyielding wall, Iroh redirected his onslaught towards the easier of the two mysteries: discerning Commander Zhao’s reputation. Iroh started fresh the next morning with a full sweep of the court’s most gossipy members. Again, it seemed the Fire Nation was in for an unseasonably cold autumn, for the reception he received was rather frosty; although people were eager to shower him with condolences, they were remiss to take his invitations to lunch, or to indulge him in the long conversations he was used to. But with much patience, he filled out the basic blanks regarding Kirachu, Zhao’s employ under Admiral Shu, and the domination of the insurgents at Chameleon Bay. Overall, opinions of Zhao were consistent: he was a temperamental narcissist, but not an insubordinate one, and despite a somewhat shaky start in the army, his career had shown promise since his switch to the navy. 

There was also something else, which no one could seem to elaborate on. Not a rumor, but the hint of one. All anyone seemed to know was that the incident had taken place while Admiral Shu’s fleet had been stationed in the Southern Water Tribe some three or so years ago. In what Iroh came to interpret as a desperate last attempt to shake him off - he’d followed her into eight stores in the shopping district, after all - Lady Hao suggested he start with Governor Darah of Kirachu; he had come to the capital city several weeks ago for talks and still had a day or so left before he returned home. Iroh jumped at the chance, and invited the other man for lunch at a charming little dim sum place he had missed dearly while in the Earth Kingdom. To his relief, Governor Darah seemed just as warm as ever, and agreed to meet. Together they ordered a tasty selection of noodles and dumplings, spicy enough to singe the eyebrows off them both.

Governor Darah started with the usual condolences - for Azulon, Lu Ten, and the siege upon Ba Sing Se - followed somewhat awkwardly by congratulations for Zuko’s engagement. Ozai’s recent rise to power was noticeably absent from the discussion, likely because he assumed it was hardly a cause for celebration for Iroh, but to lament the appointment of a new Fire Lord was adjacent to treason.

“I must confess, Zuko’s engagement is the reason I invited you here today,” said Iroh. “Not that you aren’t always a delight, but I’m curious what sort of person this Zhao is. I want to make sure he’s a good partner for my nephew.”

Governor Darah gave him a kind smile. “Of course; if I were in your shoes, I would be doing the same thing. What would you like to know about him?”

They started with the basics: family. Yes, they were powerful, they were nobility, but what were they _like?_ Darah clarified that Zhao’s father had passed about four years ago, and had been governor before him; a staunch loyalist, he had unequivocally agreed with every one of Azulon’s policies and enforced them strictly, unwilling to let Kirachu fall to the temptation of disorder as some outlying islands of the Fire Nation occasionally had. (Iroh did not comment on the rumors of unrest brewing in Kirachu now, knowing this would only reflect poorly on Darah’s leadership.) As for siblings, Zhao was the middle of three boys: his older brother, Wei, had been a decent firebender and top student at the Royal Academy, but after years of no presentation had cemented his status as beta, he had paused his budding political career to care for his aging parents and look after the estate while Zhao was serving abroad. 

“Wei, of course!” Iroh almost smacked himself. “I remember! He and Ozai attended the academy together. They used to be dear friends.” The considerable age gap between Iroh and Ozai meant that they had not been as involved in one another’s lives as many siblings who were closer in age, and so the friendship had slipped his mind. Around the time Iroh was in the throes of his marriage, consumed with raising his infant son and running a war with his father, Ozai had been a teenager with little to relate to.

Ozai had always been stony and cold, but the few genuine, unthreatening smiles Iroh could remember him sparing in his youth had all come from Wei. Iroh remembered Wei as a tall, reedy boy with glasses and a sharp face. Very scholarly-looking, but much, much more mischievous than initial appearances would suggest. Iroh couldn’t recall when the boys had stopped spending time together, but if he had to hazard a guess, it probably had to do with Wei’s status as a beta.

Zhao’s younger brother, Yan, was an unremarkable soldier whose military career had already been cut short by a knee injury. He was an alpha, but not a bender. Zhao’s mother was a male omega by the name of Ama; Governor Darah delivered this fact with an awkward comment about how people’s preferences generally seemed to align with whatever their parents were, which Iroh wasn’t sure he agreed with, but before he could counter, the governor had coughed into his hand and took on a grim, almost ill expression.

“Yes, speaking of which... That reminds me of some trouble Zhao ran into as a young man. But, ah, it doesn’t exactly paint him in the most flattering light…”

Iroh leaned in. “If it was someone I knew was engaged to your daughter, Governor, I would tell you the less savory details. You and she would deserve the warning.”

“Oh, you’re right. You must never intimate that you heard this story from me - Zhao’s family would be _furious_ that I shared it, but I deeply respect you, General, and you have a right to know what sort of man is marrying your nephew…

“Surely you know that most families don’t employ omega servants, not when they have teenaged alphas running amok. But Ama _insisted_ , you see, and Ama always gets what he wants, so they hired an omega to attend to him. A young man.

“I witnessed all of this first hand, as I was working for Zhao’s father at the time, and was on and off the estate throughout the spring. In March, the omega boy was employed full time; I saw him around, and he performed his duties with fastidiousness. I daresay I wouldn’t have paid him much attention, if he hadn’t been… well, he was quite a beautiful thing, in a boyish, big-eyed sort of way. He always looked a little annoyed, which dampened the effect of his looks, but when he smiled, it was transformative. Certainly if he’d been born to a higher station, he’d have done well for himself.”

As he watched Governor Darah over folded hands, Iroh felt his throat tighten. Stories concerning beautiful servants rarely ended happily.

“For the most part, the family treated the boy as you would any other servant, calling upon him only when needed. But Zhao was fixated. He always had some cruel comment for him, some slight about how he performed his duties. He was constantly making him re-tidy things, casting veiled comments about missing knick-knacks last seen in rooms he’d cleaned. It was petty, for sure, but nothing terribly alarming. At least not at first.

“By May, I noticed the family was taking great pains to escort the omega boy around the estate, almost as if he wasn’t allowed to be alone. Of course he could pop into the next room if need be, but if he needed to walk to another wing, or across the property, he had to go with another servant, or at least Wei or Ama. I also saw that, while he was fine if my employer or Yan was in the room, he would usually make some excuse to leave if Zhao entered. Honestly, at first I just thought he’d finally lost his patience for the constant needling at his abilities, but at one point I mistakenly walked in just as Ama was ordering the boy to stay the _hell_ away from Zhao. I was quite frightened on the boy’s behalf - Ama has quite the presence when he’s angry - but the boy only nodded, somewhat gravely, and excused himself. 

“I regret to say that I was away attending to a personal matter for the next month, but when I returned in July, the omega servant had been let go from his position. My employer was a bit of an over-sharer, you see, so when I asked where the boy had gone, well. I didn’t have to prod all that hard before he told me that Zhao had gotten them all into quite a mess. But I was not to worry; they had dragged the boy off to a doctor, and paid a significant fee to get the problem resolved.” 

At the end of this story, Governor Darah offered a queasy little smile. “So. At least your nephew won’t have to worry about infertility.”

It wasn’t unheard of, for nobility to sexually harangue their staff, but it was not the sort of story you told someone to instill hope in an upcoming engagement, and for Iroh, it only exacerbated his growing anxieties. He set his expression firm and said, “Governor Darah, I’ve been hearing hints of an incident involving Zhao in the Southern Water Tribe. Is it more along this thread?”

Governor Darah shook his head. “Even as a dear friend of the family, I have no idea about that.”

“You can’t tell me anything?” Iroh urged.

The governor was firm in his denial. “Admiral Shu is a recalcitrant gossip, but this is one event he summarily refuses to elaborate on. We only know something must have happened because there was a distress signal from their ship, and weeks later, when they returned home, they were held and questioned.”

Iroh took down the names of the men the governor recalled from Admiral Shu’s fleet for later investigation. As a last note, he asked if Governor Darah had seen Lady Ursa around the capital lately, but he had not. 

The governor cast a curious look at Iroh. “...Is your sister-in-law alright?”

“I’m just trying to narrow down a list of friends,” Iroh lied. “She seems a little blue lately, and I’d like to do something for her.” He remembered Ozai’s warning about her disappearance raising alarm bells throughout the city, and decided to comply for the time being.

Governor Darah looked unconvinced, but nodded. “Unfortunately, I cannot name many people I know that associate with Ursa. She’s a bit of a shut-in. As is Zuko; I’ll confess that the engagement is one of the first times I heard his name. Ozai talks endlessly about Azula and brings her to all manner of events, but he never mentioned he had another child.”

Iroh smiled sadly. “Yes. My brother is certainly one to play favorites.”

* * *

With all that had been revealed, Iroh had spent the ride back to Caldera deep in thought. Should he tell Zuko what he had learned? He was reminded of the circumstance one would find themself in if they happened to learn a loved one’s partner had committed a petty crime, or an infidelity; when would this knowledge harm more than it benefited? When was the pain of that truth necessary? In the eyes of most Fire Nation nobility, what Zhao had done was scandalous, but not particularly evil. Most families had at least one story involving the staff, if not an established pattern of behavior that was spoken of only in hushed tones. Maybe Iroh was soft, but he considered it an abuse of power to get involved with servants, regardless of the consent involved. It was partly why he hadn’t bothered to ask if it seemed a willing affair or not - with such a power imbalance in play, it was a moot point. On the other hand, Zhao had been a teenager when the events of Darah’s story unfolded. Whatever had happened, it would be unfair to assume he hadn’t changed since. People hardly ever stayed the same person at thirty that they were at fifteen. Iroh wasn’t sure he was even the same man who had arrived outside the walls of Ba Sing Se just two years ago.

Iroh’s mind was so deafened by this swarm of worries, he barely paid attention to where he was going when the carriage let him off at the Great Hall. It was no wonder he ended up crashing into that servant. Iroh hadn’t even registered that he'd made it inside the building until he and the young girl were stumbling apart.

“I’m terribly sorry, General Iroh!” she cried out. “I should have been looking where I was going! Did I hurt your head?”

“No, it’s fine,” he insisted. He realized he was rubbing his head as he said this, and stopped, giving her an appeasing smile to calm her down. He hated when the relationship between master and servant was tinged with fear, but neither Azulon nor Ozai had any objections to punishing the staff for innocent mistakes, so he knew he must take the time to reassure her he wasn’t angry. “Are _you_ hurt? Hopefully this gigantic noggin of mine didn’t bruise you.”

She hazarded a nervous smile. “I’m fine, sir.”

“Good. And are you alright otherwise?” He gestured to the hall from where she’d come, to her frazzled appearance. “You came sprinting through here like there’d been an emergency.”

The girl’s eyes clouded over with fear. “Oh - it’s the princess, Azula! She’s terribly ill, but she won’t let me get close. I was going to get a doctor.”

Azula, sick? He was tempted to make a joke about her being human, after all, but the news did make him worry. A child that vicious was unlikely to let anyone coddle her in a moment of weakness, even though it was when she needed it most. “Please do call for someone,” Iroh said. “I’ll go check on her myself.”

The girl nodded and ran off. Meanwhile, Iroh traced his steps back to his old bedroom, where Azula now lived. When he was down the hall, he heard the echo of a loud, violent retch. 

So she was _that_ kind of sick. Just outside her door, he paused to politely request that any spirits listening protect him from whatever fever she’d fallen victim to. Then he knocked.

“Azula? Are you alright?” When she didn’t respond, he creaked open the door, but was forced to duck as she hurled an enormous ball of blue flame at his face. He got out of the way in time, but the portrait of Fire Lord Zoryu that hung in the hall opposite the doorway was not so lucky; the right side of his face was charred to a crisp. Iroh turned back around to see Azula crouched by a basin, her face ragged, her skin ashen, but her arms poised as if to attack again. Iroh readied a defensive stance, but it was for naught; just when she seemed ready to strike again, snarling with fury, she gagged, eyes wide, and then turned back to the basin to vomit again.

The poor thing. Iroh dropped his defensive stance and came to crouch next to her. “Is there anything I can get for you? Water? Clean clothes?”

Even gaunt with illness, she knew how to steel herself and inspire fear. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and turned to him with a deadly glare. “Get out.”

“I’ll bring you some water,” Iroh said. “Or maybe a broth - you could use the nutrients.” He reached out to feel her forehead, but she swatted his hand away, a malignant spark to her touch as she did so.

“Quit mothering me, you senile buffoon!”

His responding smile was a little tight, but he chastised himself to maintain his patience. No matter how vicious, she was a sick child, after all. “Fine; I will not touch you without your permission. The doctor can check your temperature when he comes.”

Was he imagining things, or had fear just flashed in her eyes? If it had, she quickly smothered it. “A doctor will not be necessary,” she sniffed. “This is likely just a twenty-four hour stomach bug, and I think the worst of it is over, besides.” She stood with impressive composure, not a wobble or tremble to be seen. “In fact, I’m already feeling fine. So you can go.”

“What good news!” Iroh crossed his arms. “I’m rather winded from running down here to check on you, so I’ll just sit here for a moment while I catch my breath.”

They glared daggers at one another for a full minute before another wave of nausea forced Azula to bend down at the basin once again. Iroh could only sigh in exasperation. Teenagers. He stood with the intent of leaving to get her some water, but he noticed something on her bed that was a wan, sickly yellow. Wondering if she’d gotten sick in her bed, he stepped closer, and realized he was looking at a small burlap sack that had been flung open. Strewn from its mouth were dried yellow shapes that curled malignantly like tendrils, or like worms. 

With dawning horror, Iroh recognized them as leech-a-pillar fungus, a substance famously used across the four nations as an aphrodisiac. However, its reputation was a false one; it rarely did the intended job, and in high doses, could make the ingester violently ill.

“Azula, why do you have this?” he cried, turning to face her. Again, he saw a flash of something like fear cross her face. But she quickly recovered. 

Her eyes narrowed. “You’d _better_ not tell Father about this! Whatever’s going on in your perverted old head, you’re wrong!”

Iroh crouched down so that he was level with her. “I am not going to tell Ozai about this, Azula. I just want to understand. A child your age-”

“I am _not_ a child!” she snarled. “You will forget what you saw.”

At the mention of her age, he was struck again by her youthful scentlessness. Something clicked. 

“Azula… are you under the impression that ingesting this substance can make you present as an alpha?”

Again - it was so brief he may have projected it there, but he thought he saw the smallest wobble in her expression. “No! I’m just developing an interest in medicine.”

So she had bought aphrodisiacs with the intent of inducing a rut. Iroh gave a weary sigh. “Clearly you haven’t studied this new interest enough. The leech-a-pillar fungus is deeply toxic.”

“Yes, I clearly know that _now_ ,” she quipped. 

Watching her crouched there by the basin, her face twisted into an ugly glare, her feet firmly planted as if she could run any distance from this conversation without being halted by her own illness, she gave the impression of a feral animal, her leg ensnared in a hunter’s trap. Even as she gnashed her teeth and clawed at him, he wanted to free her from this pain.

“The way you’ve been dressed. Why is your father so sure you’ll be an alpha?” Iroh asked.

She rolled her eyes, the effect somewhat diminished by her pallor. “Aside from _everything_ about me? Father had a physician at the palace about a month ago. He identified Zuzu, too.”

It took him a moment, but eventually Iroh remembered the conversation he had had with Ozai and Ursa shortly after Azula’s birth. Apparently Ozai had gone along with his plan. Not a surprise; he’d never been one for patience. “If a medical professional has confirmed it, then there is no rush. We all develop in our own time, and if you push yourself-”

“Zuko has already presented!” Azula spat. “It was an inferior presentation, but he has presented nonetheless! I can’t fall behind him.”

“But he is two years older than you.”

Azula looked away, her face falling into what could only be called a pout. “But I’m _always_ ahead of him.”

Iroh felt for her. But she needed to know the ramifications of her actions. “What you have there is nothing more than snake oil,” said Iroh. “You could be sick for days. If you purchased any other wares, then please let me take a look at them.”

She turned away, sitting with her back to him. Iroh stood, waiting, and eventually, with one sluggish hand, she pointed to some shelves on the far wall. He crossed to them and inspected them for anything unusual, and saw several more small, burlap sacks, each about the size of his palm. Iroh checked inside each of the bags, using just one finger to pull back the fabric and glance at the contents, in case skin-to-skin contact wasn’t safe.

“Well?” Azula demanded. “Have I wasted my money?”

“Yes,” Iroh confirmed. “These are all ineffective at best, and deeply toxic at worst.” He brought them over to show her, explaining the differences between each. When Azula reached out to take them, he let her, using their newfound proximity to note how she looked. There was a light sheen of sweat on her forehead, and her nausea had carved bruised hollows under each eye. 

“I will kill that old woman,” Azula cursed. She fixed the bags in her hands with a deadly glare, and in a moment, the sacks had gone up in flames. The ashes of each illicit remedy fell through her fingers to the floor of her room. But she held her hands up as if she were cradling them all still, her fingers trembling. Was it wholly rage, or could there be a hint of fear there?

Iroh watched as she turned and retched again; he was worried her firebending was only compounding her dehydration. “I think I can get you something that will work much better than these.”

She fixed him with a look that could kill. “What exactly are you offering me, you old degenerate?”

He brushed her accusation off with a light-hearted chuckle. “Not an aphrodisiac, for sure.”

Her expression was suspicious. “Then what?”

“...Let’s call it camouflage. We’ll talk about it later; for now, let’s get you something to drink.”

Just as he was about to close the door behind him, she cried out to him to stop. He turned, unsure what could make her beseech him so desperately. 

“Promise me you won’t call a doctor! I don’t want Father to find out about this.”

After some deliberation, he shook his head in refusal. “...The leech-a-pillar fungus is dangerous. I would feel safer if we had a physician take a look at you.” Then, before the fury on her face could be manifested in screaming or fireballs, “But I will take pains to ensure he is discreet.” 

“ _Fine_ ,” she snapped, waving him away. “Leave, then.”

After checking that the servant girl had sent for a doctor as earlier promised, he went to the Lesser Hall to grab some silver from his room, to persuade the doctor not to talk about the princess getting dreadfully ill from fake aphrodisiacs. Then he began to heat a kettle of water and deliberated over whether chamomile or ginger tea would benefit Azula more. The ginger would settle her stomach, but the chamomile would relax her enough that she could sleep and regain her strength. Eventually he settled on chamomile, based on some foggy memory of Ursa giving it to Azula when she’d woken from a night terror around five years old. Or maybe that was Zuko. Certainly not Lu Ten?

The afternoon was lost in a fuss around the princess. Servants rushed to fulfill Azula’s every whim, Iroh acting as go-between because she wouldn’t let anyone else in the room (and, he suspected, because she wanted to punish him for mothering her by making him run errands for her). The doctor was as discreet as hoped, and managed to stabilize her with a bit of charcoal, which made her vomit more violently for a short period, before she calmed down enough to be administered an anti-toxin. 

Although Iroh sent word that Azula was sick (the details concealed as a stomach virus, of course), Ozai did not make an appearance. He did not even send a messenger back with well wishes. Iroh stared out into the empty hall, hoping someone would come. When they didn’t, he returned to Azula with a straight face.

“Your father is tangled in foreign affairs, but he is deeply saddened to hear of your illness and hopes you will feel better soon.”

“I know he didn’t say that.” When Azula fixed him with that piercing stare, Iroh briefly wondered if she could read minds. After a beat, she looked away. “He has much more important things to worry about. There’s a _war_ going on, in case you forgot.”

Caught in a lie, Iroh could only lay his hand on hers in sympathy. Maybe sickness had just made her reactions sluggish, but she seemed to let it stay for a moment, before eventually swatting it away.

* * *

That morning, Zuko had awakened to the smallest semblance of hope. It didn’t come in the form of a dramatic development, but in a return to normalcy; today, he’d finally get to see his bending teacher, Master Kunyo, when he came to the palace for their regularly scheduled lessons. They had been deliberately put on hold when Master Kunyo had briefly left the capital to address a personal matter, and the chaos surrounding the royal family had created further delays. Zuko probably would have tried to pick his lessons up soon after his father’s coronation, if not for the fact that he had been… indisposed. 

Memories of the previous week came back in intense but mostly incoherent flashes. It was not dissimilar to a severe fever he’d suffered as a kid, down to the aches, the fatigue, and well. The heat.

He scowled, feeling an incomprehensible but still nonetheless potent anger rise up in him. He wasn’t sure if he was angry at anyone in particular, or just at himself - as of late, it seemed his body was out to betray him, and this had just been the final, most damning betrayal of them all. He could no longer hold onto hope that Doctor Sonzehn had been a hack; he was officially an omega. 

So much had changed in so little time, and the only thing that brought Zuko an ounce of reprieve from his inner turmoil was the reassurance that, for a few hours, at least, he wouldn’t have to think about any of it. Not his damning status, not his missing mother, and not the impending marriage that loomed in the back of his mind like an ironclad in foreign waters.

When it came time for his lessons, Zuko was relieved to tie his hair out of his face and to forfeit the stuffy robes for a tunic and breeches that made it easier to move through different bending stances. He got dressed quickly and made his way to the reception room where he would normally meet his teacher. It was outfitted with sliding screen doors that led out into the larger yard where the lesson would actually take place. Zuko sat at the low table in the center of the room and watched the sunlight straining through the rice paper with a barely contained excitement. The chi training exercises he had been so bored and frustrated by just a few short weeks ago now seemed a welcome respite. To think he had argued with Master Kunyo about the need to perfect his form. He’d be grateful, now. He’d obey every instruction without complaint.

The screen door swung open. The visitor undoubtedly saw the exact moment Zuko realized he didn’t know who this was, because he could feel (but not control) how dramatically his expression fell.

The man standing in the doorway was not Master Kunyo. He had a pinched face, crowded into the center of his wide head, and arched by fantastically narrowed eyebrows. His height was imposing, so much so that when Zuko caught his scent, the wide-sleeved robes he wore, he was convinced he was mistaken; there was no way this person could be an omega like him. Over one of his arms, the mysterious omega carried a large woven case.

“Are you Prince Zuko?” he asked. Even with such a neutral sentence, he seemed to wield his voice like a knife, slashing out at him.

“Yes,” Zuko confirmed, somewhat bewildered. “Who are you? Where is Master Kunyo?”

“Master Kunyo will not be joining us today.” The omega shut the door behind him and stepped up to the table where Zuko sat. “You may call me Master Aloki. Is there a reason you have not stood to greet me?”

With a pang of shame, Zuko immediately stood and greeted him, although afterwards he was unsure why. He didn’t know this person; and regardless of his status, Zuko was royalty, so didn’t he outrank this man? 

“Welcome, Master Aloki. Why are you here?”

“I will be replacing Master Kunyo for the foreseeable future.”

Now Zuko was curious; in his albeit limited experience, he’d never heard of an omega who taught firebending before. “Do you want me to show you what I know? The last I left off with Master Kunyo, we were studying the-”

Aloki raised one imperious hand, not unlike Zuko had seen his father do. Even after Zuko had obeyed the silent command and stopped talking, Aloki ignored his question to study him, tapping his fingers to his chin. They were long and narrow, and adorned with many gaudy, bejeweled rings. Zuko felt increasingly uncomfortable under Aloki’s eye, and avoided meeting his steely gaze.

“Your posture is despicable,” Aloki said, finally. “Put your shoulders back and your chin up.” When Zuko failed to obey this order, too stunned by it to move, Aloki reached out and adjusted him none too gently. Zuko was reminded of the eel hounds paraded around in shows, the way their owners would pull their faces to and fro to display their good breeding and obedience to the judges. When Aloki finally deemed him “passable,” he allowed Zuko to sit, and proceeded to criticize the way he had done so. “You look like a drunk collapsing into a gutter. Stand up and show me again.” Again, although bewildered, Zuko complied. Was this related to the fundamental movements of bending? Or was his speed being tested?

Once he was satisfied with Zuko’s ability to sit down, Master Aloki sat beside him. He set his case on the table, and proceeded to pull out brushes, an inkwell, and scrolls. “You will copy this poem in your own hand.”

Zuko had the brush in his hand and was inking it when he finally snapped out of it. “Wait, _why?_ What the hell does this have to do with bending?”

Aloki sucked his teeth. “Fire Lord Ozai’s warnings were apt; disobedient, temperamental, clumsy...” Each criticism sent a pang through Zuko’s heart as if his father were here, now, listing them off himself. “If it clarifies things for you, I am also replacing your tutor, Master Saitoh. I am here to test your aptitude on a number of subjects so that I can develop a curriculum suited to your needs. Now, the poem.”

Zuko wanted to ask why his teachers had been replaced, but instead he bit his tongue and began to copy the poem placed before him. The entire time, Aloki watched over his shoulder as he wrote, occasionally tutting or shaking his head.

“Barely legible; we’ll have to train you in calligraphy.”

They went through several more tedious exercises like this one; for instance, Aloki had Zuko recite the poem, and then criticized him for his dreadful enunciation. Then he had Zuko walk back and forth across the room with a stack of books on his head and berated him every time one wobbled or fell.

Finally, Aloki asked him to firebend. Zuko leapt to his feet, full of hatred towards this stranger and eager to proceed with the lessons he’d been promised. “Do you want me to run through the basic stances, or shall we spar?” 

Aloki jabbed one sharp finger at the opposite side of the room. There was a square hearth filled with sand, a teapot suspended over it by a rod. “Produce a controlled flame in the irori. Stop when the water has boiled.”

...Maybe this was an exercise in restraint. Somewhat dazed, Zuko went over to the hearth and looked at the ashes in the sand. There were the smallest of orange sparks; he focused on these and got a small fire going, heating the pot until it whistled. For the first time since they’d met, Master Aloki offered an approving smile when he wrote down the results. “What a relief to know you aren’t _entirely_ useless.”

Master Aloki packed his bag and stood to leave. “We will embark on our new regimen this time tomorrow. Make sure that you dress appropriately; it’s unseemly for a grown omega to dress in children’s clothes.”

Zuko’s brow furrowed. “You expect me to bend in robes?”

Aloki stopped on the threshold, his jeweled claws still clutching the door, his paper-thin lips quirked into a cold smile. “My prince, are you under the impression that a glorified broodmare should have the education befitting a warrior?”

His words were so poisonous, it made Zuko’s response wither and die on his tongue. Aloki continued while he still had Zuko off guard.

“I don’t know if you understand the position you’re in, so I’ll make myself perfectly clear: I am not here to continue with you down the path that Master Kunyo and Master Saitoh have forged for you. I am here to course correct. The esteemed Fire Lord wants you to grow up to be an omega of proper standing. We will focus, first and foremost, on your horrible comportment, and if there is time before your marriage, we’ll dip into a few academics that will ensure you are witty enough not to embarrass your family at dinner parties. But make no mistake; we have no delusions that you will make either a scholar or a soldier. You would do well to face that reality.” And he punctuated this final comment by sliding the screen door shut. 

Zuko stared at the door in stunned silence. Then an inordinate rage filled him. The heat of it rolled up from his belly, coursing through his throat until it came in waves of billowing smoke that fell from between his gritted teeth. He wanted to scream until his throat was hoarse and his tongue blackened that Aloki was _wrong_. Zuko wanted to chase him with his flames and make him pay in hundreds of thousands of degrees.

And yet, just as quickly as his rage filled him, it soured. Here, alone, he felt the powerful emotion curl up and die inside him, retreating so quickly it scorched his throat and left a painful stab in the pit of his stomach. Tears sprang to his eyes, bringing with them the cycle of self-hatred at his weakness.

In a desperate lunge for the power his dying anger had entreated him with, he lashed out, showering the wall closest to him with flame. It did nothing other than burn the screen door away, catching the awning so that soon the whole wall was alight. 

* * *

Eventually, Azula had passed out from exhaustion. Even in sleep, her body was stiff and her face furrowed in concentration, like a creature that knows it is never safe, and may need to wake at any moment to defend itself. Iroh had no doubt that if he woke her she would lash out with every ounce of firepower in her body, and so he was careful as he snuck out of her room and retreated back to the Lesser Hall, hoping to get some rest of his own. 

But it was not meant to be. He was greeted by a panicked guard.

“General Iroh, Sir! Prince Zuko set the reception room on fire!”

Iroh had run halfway to the Lesser Hall before the guard thought to tell him that the fire in question had already been put out. Seizing every ounce of patience left in his body, Iroh asked where Zuko was now, and found his nephew curled up in the corner of the reception room, still, his face in his arms. It seemed the door had been burned away, but luckily the fire had not spread to a supporting pillar. Iroh made a note to have it discreetly replaced without Ozai’s knowledge, and approached where his nephew was huddled.

“Zuko, why on earth would you do that?” Iroh kneeled by the boy, wincing as the action made his knees smart with pain. He had spent the better part of the day crouching down to tend to his brother’s children, and it was taking a toll on his old joints. 

When Zuko raised his head, face stricken, Iroh felt his pain melt away. He would walk barefoot across the South Pole for this child if he had to. 

“I’m sorry Uncle, I - I was just so angry, and-” He bit back a sob. Without hesitation, Iroh wrapped his arms around him.

“Zuko, you are too old to be setting fire to things in anger,” Iroh admonished, but with the utmost tenderness. “You know that control is one of the greatest virtues a firebender can exercise. But I also know that you must have been deeply upset to allow yourself to behave this way. Please, tell me what happened.”

Zuko scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I know - I’m sorry. Maybe that’s why he’s taking it from me. I haven’t been careful enough. I don’t deserve it.”

Iroh pulled back, looking at his nephew with concern. “What do you mean?”

Zuko composed himself enough to meet his eye. “Father’s fired Master Kunyo and Master Saitoh. The man who’s taking their place doesn’t seem interested in teaching me anything they did.”

“Every teacher’s style is a little different,” Iroh started, but Zuko banished this attempt at comfort with a shake of his head.

“He’s not going to teach me anymore firebending. I’m not sure he’s even going to continue my regular schooling.” Zuko recounted to Iroh what Master Aloki had said to him verbatim. From the way his voice shuddered, Iroh could tell that each word had been etched into the boy’s memory with with a sharply bladed pain. 

When all was said, Iroh was left stunned. He wanted to insist that they had misunderstood Aloki, but to do so wouldn’t be optimistic so much as deluded. This man clearly wasn’t interested in teaching Zuko to be anything but an omega. 

He clutched the boy’s hand in his and whispered, “Let me talk to your father about this.”

The boy’s eyes flitted to the burned remnants of the door, as if Ozai could appear any minute. “But if I complain, he’ll be mad…”

“It’s alright,” Iroh soothed. “I just want to talk to him.” Still, Zuko’s hands were clutching his so tightly, as if straining to keep him there. He gently peeled the boy’s fingers away from his, and stood up to return to the Great Hall.

* * *

This time, Ozai’s schedule was not so forgiving. The guards tried to turn Iroh away, insisting the Fire Lord was otherwise engaged, but they did not seize upon him, and so Iroh took advantage of his rank to stride past them through the double doors, barely cognizant of whether they swept shut behind him.

The throne room flickered with sharp orange light from the wreaths of flames surrounding the dais. The room was empty, meaning Ozai had tried to turn him away despite having no other engagement to occupy him. Ozai loomed behind the flames, his features indistinguishable in the blaze. He made a fearful sight. 

But it was all a trick. Generations of royal family theatrics. Iroh firmly stood his ground. “Ozai, it is of the utmost importance that we discuss Zuko’s education.”

Ozai’s silhouette was stiff. “You have interrupted my privacy - the privacy of your _lord_ \- to prattle about my children?”

“I have not come as your subject, but as your brother, begging you to see reason.” Iroh hoped that in explaining the vile things this new instructor had implied, his brother would be disgusted, proclaim a mix-up, and have this Aloki and whatever advisor that had sought him out fired. 

When all had been said, the throne room became so deathly silent, there was only the roar of the flames. There was no way to see Ozai’s expression while it was wreathed in flame, and so Iroh could only hope and wait for his reply.

After seconds that dragged on like days, Ozai spoke. “Surely you know Ursa is gone, given how you badgered me about it just yesterday. But have you considered what this means for Zuko, beyond a little loneliness?”

Iroh frowned. He didn’t understand what Ursa had to do with this. He didn’t speak, putting the onus on Ozai to explain. And he did, eventually, although with a belabored sigh.

“You understand that there is no _proper_ adult omega in this family that Zuko can learn from? I brought this person in to ensure my son is ready for marriage and understands the expectations he will face in adulthood.”

Iroh narrowed his eyes at the qualifier, but did not comment on it. “That’s all well and good, but you did not have to fire Masters Saitoh and Kunyo.”

Ozai’s voice dripped with condescension. “Refresh me, please, on who those people are. As the leader of a nation, I cannot trouble myself with the minute details of my childrens’ lives the way you do.” 

The temperature of the room seemed to creep ever upwards. Iroh took a deep, calming breath before he responded. “Zuko’s firebending teacher and his general tutor. Ozai, we are not savages in the Fire Nation. It is not forbidden for an omega to firebend-”

“But they are forbidden from serving in the army, which makes any extracurricular instruction on firebending a superfluous waste of palace funds in wartime. If Zuko were a prodigy, I’d consider keeping both instructors on, but considering the reality of the matter, we’ve found someone who can cover everything he _needs_ to know.”

So his brother had done this all on purpose, and would couch his spiteful decision as the logical needs of an abundant palace treasury. Iroh couldn’t help it; people took for granted his seemingly endless patience, but he was only a man, and one who had lost all that was dearest to him in a span of weeks. And so he said to the Fire Lord, with no little spite of his own, “I suppose it was wishful thinking when I assumed you would not project your childhood complexes onto Zuko.” He held out his arms. “I am here, now, Ozai. I’ve retired to Caldera and I am at your mercy, so you can leave the boy alone and-”

“You’re accusing _me_ of projecting, brother, but it seems _you_ are the one who is convinced of your own persecution.” 

“I am not imagining that you’ve become a tyrant to your own family,” Iroh snapped. 

The flames on the dais surged upwards, and Iroh was fully expecting Ozai to come at him with the full force of his anger. But the voice that reached out from the tower of flame was unexpectedly silken. “How have you been feeling since you arrived home, brother?”

Iroh blinked. One could almost have mistaken Ozai’s tone for a caring one. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve suffered a terrible loss. And yet it seems to me you haven’t allowed yourself much time to mourn.”

There was something in the air. Instead of their usual steady stream upwards, the flames on the dais seemed to lurch back and forth, as if Iroh’s vision were clouded by seasickness. 

“...I’ve mourned,” he said, finally. It occurred to him that his stance must appear overly defensive now, given Ozai’s calm demeanor, and so he tentatively lowered his arms.

Ozai’s silhouette behind the flames was still, the edges wavering only as the fire rippled around him. “Have you? It seems to me you’ve spent much of your time worrying over my children, and very little time mourning the one you lost.”

“That’s not-”

“I’m not accusing you of being an inattentive parent,” Ozai clarified, quickly. “If anything, you’ve proven yourself deeply invested with the compassion you’ve showed my children. I just worry, when you start throwing around these defensive accusations, raving that I’m out to get you and my own son… You don’t sound like yourself. You sound unwell.”

The room was nearly boiling, and the flames were flickering at a faster and faster pace. The change of light was making Iroh dizzy and nauseous, and there was - not an imperceptible feeling, but a sensation he was unsure was physical or psychological, like being _pulled_ , as if someone had latched onto the roiling heat of his inner flame and was pulling it outward through his finger tips. He fought the sensation, focusing on keeping his chi steady, but as he struggled his disorientation seemed to magnify threefold.

Ozai’s next words were uttered, only just heard over the roar of the flames. “I do hope you’ll consider getting more rest, Iroh. If anything were to happen to you, I’d be beside myself. My _children_ would be beside themselves. This family has suffered so much loss as of late. We needn’t suffer anymore.”

* * *

There was a kernel of truth in what Zuko had said the other day, about a month of terrible luck. But while Lu Ten’s death was one of the tragedies wrought as a result, it was not the first brick pulled from the foundation. 

In refusing to yield to his onslaught, it seemed as though the walls of Ba Sing Se rose to block Iroh from his rightful destiny. Instead of proceeding down his preordained path, he was now forced down a broken and unfamiliar one. Nothing was as it should be; he should have been preening over a legendary victory for the Fire Nation, and then grown old surrounded by grandchildren, watching Lu Ten ascend to the role of Fire Lord after his own very short-lived reign. Instead, his child, his direction, and his very reputation had been snatched away from him. And he was absolutely sure his reputation had suffered as a result of his loss at Ba Sing Se, given the cold reception the court of Caldera had given him. 

On the walk back to the Lesser Hall, Iroh kept thinking about the strange sensation he’d felt in Ozai’s presence. He slipped a hand inside his sleeve and felt the skin of his forearm, traced the veins with his fingertips. He was reminded of accounts he’d heard regarding bloodbending, but it certainly wasn’t that. No, if Iroh had to guess, he’d say that Ozai had been attempting to bend his chi. It was not always deadly, to bend another firebender’s fire, but the effect was certainly disorienting. In fact, it was an old torture tactic, long since outlawed in a nation that valued fighting men face-to-face, without resorting to trickery. 

Ozai’s attempts to disarm and disorient him, when paired with his thinly veiled threats, suggested the worst: that Iroh should not risk appealing to Ozai’s humanity again. Whatever semblance he’d had left was now gone.

When Zuko answered Iroh’s knock, his eyes weren’t red-rimmed, but they were weary. The events of the day seemed to weigh heavily on the boy, several hairs falling out of place from his phoenix tail, his mouth slack with exhaustion. Here, too, was someone who thought he’d had a grasp on his destiny, only to have it all fall out from under him in an instant.

Empathy surged in Iroh’s chest. Almost without thinking, he declared, “I am going to teach you everything you want to know about firebending.”

Zuko’s eyes changed, like amber thrust into a source of light. “Really? Did Father say there was a mistake?”

Iroh shook his head. “On the contrary, I don’t think we’ll be telling him what we’re up to.”

Worry crept back into the boy’s expression. “Shouldn’t we ask him first? If he finds out we went against his wishes…”

“We will worry about that when the time comes. For now, though, you and I will use our seclusion to the Lesser Hall to our advantage.”

Little by little, happiness dared to creep back into Zuko’s face. Iroh would have done almost anything to make this child feel whole again. But he shamefully buried those last few miles that even he dared not walk.

* * *

It didn’t take Azula that long to get back on her feet, but it was some time before she sought Iroh out. He had just wrapped up a game of pai sho with one of the guards, and was watching turtle-ducks bob along in the koi pond with a lazy sort of contentment when he heard a hacking, cough-like noise. Worried there was something wrong with the turtle-ducks, he frowned and leaned in to look closer at the pond. He heard the noise again, but it didn’t seem to be coming from any of them.

And then came a flash of lightning, which reduced the ground before his sandaled feet to ash. He stumbled back, bewildered, and looked for the sign of clouds, the rain that should have preceded this phenomenon…

“ _Uncle!_ ” Azula hissed. He turned and saw her standing under the awning several feet behind him, her lips twisted with frustration. “Come _here!_ ”

He gave a startled laugh and touched his heart. “Oh, it was you, Azula!”

“Shh!” She nodded to a guard standing by the far wall, who looked just as startled by the sudden lightning. “I’m trying to be discreet.”

And so she had tried to electrocute him? That seemed counter-productive, but Iroh held his tongue. 

“You promised me a treatment,” she hissed. “Something that would make me an alpha without poisoning me.”

Ah - that. “I believe I called it a camouflage. Come with me, and I’ll show you what I mean.”

They headed towards the Lesser Hall together, Azula falling behind Iroh. It seemed less like caution over her secret and more that she was embarrassed people would see her spending time with her own uncle. Iroh let her go, glancing back occasionally to assure she hadn’t darted off. When they stepped over the threshold of the building, he thought he saw her hesitate, but it wasn’t nerves. Her lips twisted into a cringe.

“I can’t stand being back here,” she declared. “It’s so _tiny_. I’m sure it’s humiliating for you, losing your former room to a teenager.”

“I think it’s cozy here,” Iroh said, keeping his tone serene. “Besides, you’re a growing girl. You need the space more than I do.”

Azula frowned, but said nothing more as they proceeded down the hall to her old room. She had never seemed entirely sure what to make of Iroh. Perhaps it was the fact he rarely rose to her bait; while her remarks could whip Zuko into a frenzy within seconds, Iroh was mostly immune. One could attribute it to his age, or to his experience as a father and an older brother, or to his naturally calm temperament. Or perhaps it was simply that he pitied Azula too deeply to be angry at her in a way that mattered. Every time he looked at her, he saw the product of his brother’s rigid way of thinking, a hundred years of Fire Nation tradition boiled down into one vicious little warrior. He was intimidated by it, sure; she was a highly capable bender with a cunning mind. But he was also deeply saddened by it. Azula was following him now because she was desperate for some shortcut to adulthood - but had she ever had the chance to savor her childhood?

He bid her to shut the door when they arrived in his room, which of course earned him a scathing remark about his intentions. But she obeyed. He went over to the Earth Kingdom chest and pulled out a package he had recently purchased.

“...We will have to modify this somewhat, so it is unique. Perhaps some plum blossom from the garden.” He looked up. “What sorts of scents do you favor?”

Her expression was bemused. “What are you prattling on about?”

As if he didn’t hear her, he went to his desk, and pulled a mortar and pestle from the drawer. He then opened the package; Azula followed him to watch over his shoulder as he pulled out various dried plants and flowers and began to crush them together. 

Iroh explained while he worked. “You may not be able to detect it at your age, but this mimics the smell of an adult alpha. If you rub a little bit of this on your wrists and your collarbone every morning, you’ll be able to pass. Your father won’t know the difference. If it comes down to it that you’re unhappy with the results, well. You can come talk to me, and we will find another solution. But I think this will serve your purposes, at least for now.” Azula watched his ministrations with great interest, eyes tracing over every ingredient he added. 

“...Why do you know all this?” Her tone was hard to read. Doubtless she was putting the details together in her mind; she was a bright girl. But how she would choose to use this knowledge would remain to be seen.

A mix of emotions welled up in Iroh’s heart: the decision to return her vulnerability with a little of his own, the desire to trust her, the realization he already had, the fear of what could happen now. He smiled through them. “I just have an interest in medicine. That’s all.”

When he was finished, he held out the mortar to her. “Keep this covered until you get it back to your room. It should be enough for a few days; I can make more when you’ve used it up.”

She stared at him with that same unnerving, cat-like stare that Ozai had frequently given him. For a moment, he wondered if she would thank him, but instead she snatched the mortar out of his hand and grumbled, “This better work.”

He raised a hand to pat her on the shoulder, but thought of the likelihood that she would burn his fingers off, and offered her a smile instead. She walked away without offering one of her own, and seemed ready to leave the room, when she stopped just on the threshold.

“...You were asking around about Commander Zhao. Are you concerned for Zuko’s marriage?”

An interesting change of subject. Iroh went along with it. “I wouldn’t say concerned. I’m just curious the way any family member would be.” Iroh made a note to himself to keep in mind how little privacy the royal palace had compared to an army encampment; here, the enemy resided in the same halls and mingled with the same people your allies did. Sometimes they were one and the same.

Azula nodded, her expression impassive. Iroh almost expected her to needle for what he knew, or perhaps drop the bombshell about the Southern Water Tribe, but instead she said, 

“I think Zhao’s sterile.”

Iroh’s eyebrows shot up. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I saw him, the morning I went to buy those...” Instead of naming the aphrodisiacs, she gave a little scoff. “I heard him talking to the shopkeeper about pheromones. She was giving him his money back, so whatever she sold him didn’t do the trick.”

Iroh was stunned. “That… is certainly something.”

Azula smiled. “It’s funny, isn’t it? Poor Zuzu. I’d warn Father that he’s sold his son off to an impotent swindler, but I don’t want him to know about my whole,” and she waved, dismissively. 

Iroh could only nod in response. He knew from the story that Governor Darah had relayed that Zhao was most certainly _not_ impotent. Unless he had been outright castrated in the years since, there was little chance that an alpha in his late twenties would already be struggling to reproduce. Which called into question what Zhao had been doing at an herbalist in the first place.

“Azula, could you give me the name of that shop?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, Yan's name comes from one of the seven warring states. Ama is either from an avatar name generator or was made up on the spot, but the emphasis is on the second syllable (ah-MA, not AH-ma)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko has a run-in with Azula and her friends. Iroh’s investigation comes to a close. A surprising revelation shakes the royal family to its core.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies, another chapter of no zhao! (well... a smidgen of zhao.) i had to wrap up the last of this plot before we move to a time skip. the next chapter is fairly short to counter-balance, at least
> 
> also THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL YOUR COMMENTS, they all give me life and make me so happy

The first letter arrived about a month after they last spoke, in a simple white envelope marked only with his name and a wax seal bearing the imperial symbol. Zuko ran his thumb over the circular flames, feeling the texture of the image. The seal didn’t peel away from the paper when he rubbed it, suggesting, at least, that he was the first person to read this letter. No servant had been charged with violating his privacy. Yet.

When he opened it, the letter read as follows:

_To Prince Zuko -_

_Our ship has arrived in the Mon Sai channel several miles west of Omashu. I didn’t expect it to be so easy to get this far, but the Earth Kingdom’s navy is a bit of a joke. I wonder how we haven’t conquered Omashu sooner if the outlying reinforcements are this weak, but perhaps we’ll meet with more resistance as we move inland. For now, this is where I will stay, to fortify our claim in these waters._

_I’ve enjoyed the adjustment from captain to commander. I’m given considerable autonomy over the Mengchong, and it’s a relief to be able to work without some higher authority constantly breathing down my neck. I still answer to Admiral Chadeng, of course, but she seems to appreciate that I’m capable of making my own decisions and don’t badger her for constant validation, unlike the commanders of some of the neighboring ships in this fleet. Not to be brash, but I’m not exactly threatened by my colleagues and already feel that I stand out among those who have been here much longer than me._

_I’ve been thinking of you often. I hope you’ll humor this lonely sailor with a reply._

_Regards,_

_Commander Zhao of the Mengchong_

The juxtaposition of the cheesy one-liner and the formality of the sign-off tickled him, but Zuko suppressed the urge to laugh, despite the fact he was alone in his bedroom. He felt himself doing that a lot, lately; suppressing any slightly passionate response that rose up in him, schooling his expression so it would remain calm under invisible scrutiny. That was no doubt Aloki’s influence. One of the virtues he was hammering into Zuko was impassivity, which went hand in hand with impulse control, which went hand in hand with being the pretty but mostly silent sort of window-dressing people expected him to be. 

Ironically, the more he tried to keep his exterior composed, the more his interior seemed to thrum with the entropy of all he kept concealed. He felt like a beautifully decorated powder keg, and as he dipped his brush in ink and prepared a reply, it was with the trepidation of approaching a fuse with a match. If he were to confide in Zhao about the lessons on elocution and etiquette, he might not be able to use what he’d learned from them, and would start spilling his anxieties so violently on the page he’d give Zhao second thoughts about agreeing to marry him. Meanwhile, if he broached the subject of those other lessons… well. Just because no one had read Zhao’s letter to him didn’t mean someone wasn’t charged with reading every one of the letters Zuko sent out of the palace. He couldn’t risk his work with his uncle being exposed to anyone, even someone he was engaged to. Those firebending instructions were one of the only genuine outlets he had left.

Zuko went through several volatile drafts before he landed on one he deemed acceptable enough to send:

_Zhao,_

_I am glad to hear you are doing well. I am also doing well. Uncle Iroh has returned home and it’s nice to have him around._

_Have you heard anything about my mother? I know you’re far from where she was last seen, but efforts to find her here have dried up, so I suspect she’s no longer in the country. I would appreciate any information you can find._

_Regards,_

_Zuko_

It was choppy and used the word “well” twice, but if he tried to rewrite this one more time, he wouldn’t have the heart to finish it. While he waited for the ink to dry, he searched for an envelope, but couldn’t find one. Maybe Uncle had one to spare. He’d run by his room and ask.

Letter in hand, Zuko traded the stuffy air of the Lesser Hall for the brisk autumn wind in the garden, figuring it’d be faster to cut across the grass than to follow the winding inner corridor to Iroh’s room. The plum blossom trees were bare, and would be until late winter. They jutted out in sharp and gawky angles, the red tint of their closed buds visible only when the sunlight hit them just right. They provided no coverage, so when Zuko rounded a corner, he immediately saw his sister and her cronies huddled together, their heads low as they whispered in that feverish way only a group of girls trying to talk over each other could. 

There was the ever-impassive Mai, dressed in dour shades, the only one of the group who wasn’t smiling; there was Ty Lee, her opposite, decked out in pinks, gesturing excitedly to the other girls as she talked; and then, of course, there was Azula herself, her smile cruel even as she gossiped with her friends. Their possessions sprawled out from around their huddled forms, staking a claim to the surrounding area like a makeshift encampment: knapsacks, books, even an elaborate jade flower that looked as though it should be worn with a formal hairstyle, and a wretchedly over-used hairbrush covered with brown hair that could’ve belonged to any or all of them. 

They were sitting by the turtle-duck pond, right in front of Iroh’s door. Zuko stopped dead in his tracks when he saw them, his fingers instinctively tightening over the letter. He held it just out of sight, twisting his wrist to conceal it within a wide sleeve. 

He was seriously considering turning on his heel and taking the long route back through the inside of the Lesser Hall. But as he stepped back, he broke one of the fallen plum blossom branches. It gave a traitorous _snap_ , and all three girls turned to look at him in unison, like puma goats spotting prey on the savannah.

“Hi, Zuzu,” Azula crooned. “How long have you been lurking over there?”

He resisted the scowl that tugged at his pursed lips. “I’m not lurking. I’m looking for Uncle.”

Azula held out her arms, beckoning him over. “By all means - come and get him.”

Zuko wasn’t going to be scared away by a bunch of teenagers. He was two whole years older, and would act like it. Summoning all the confidence he could muster, he proceeded towards them with his head held high and his jaw set. He was struggling to simultaneously take notice of any sudden movements _and_ seem like he was ignoring them, avoiding eye contact while obsessively watching out of the corners of his eyes. Azula made as if to ignore him, too, turning to Mai and saying something about a girl in their grade she found pathetic. Her hand brushed along the edge of the turtle-duck pond.

Just as he reached the screen door, a splash of water sprang up and doused the end of Zuko’s robes; on instinct, the hand holding the letter flung up, holding it aloft to prevent it from getting wet. 

He heard Ty Lee exclaim, “Ooh, what’s this?” and before he could turn around, she’d snatched the letter out of his hand and bounded away.

So much for maintaining composure. The pretty powder-keg lit ablaze, and he surged towards the girl, hands outstretched. “Give that back!”

“Why? What’s it say?” Ty Lee unfolded the letter, but he swiped at her before she could read it. He crowded her against the edge of the pond, giving her nowhere to go, but she twisted and leapt out of his reach, passing the letter under her arm to Azula, who snuck in quickly from the side. Zuko tried to pursue his sister, then stumbled back as Ty Lee jabbed at him like a rat viper, aiming for his chi. He was furious that they would fight this dirty just to humiliate him over a private letter.

As soon as Azula unfolded the letter, her face twisted with menacing glee. “It’s to your _lover_ , Zhao! Let’s see-”

Zuko finally side-stepped Ty Lee to snatch at Azula, who managed to back away before he could grab the letter out of her hands.

“Stop acting like children!” he snarled.

Azula grinned at him, eyes gleaming. “If you want us to behave, then teach us some of that _decorum_ you’ve been learning.” 

As he lunged, she cried, “Plea!”

And as she flitted behind him, and he turned to follow, “Pirouette!”

Just as she was about to mock him again, Zuko got a hand on her sash and yanked her towards him. It seemed the letter was almost in his grasp, but Mai snatched it out of Azula’s hand at the last second and gracefully backed a safe distance away. Zuko, Azula, and Ty Lee stopped in a jumble of limbs, looking at her expectantly with a clashing mixture of fear and excitement.

They could tell the moment Mai finished reading, because her reaction managed to break through her usual impassivity; her lip gave a tiny curl of disgust. “This is boring. This might actually be the most boring letter that anyone has ever written to their fiancé.”

When she held it out to them, she had it pinched by a corner between two fingers, like a disgusting dead thing. As it dangled there, Azula and Ty Lee cocked their heads to skim it. And frowned in unison.

“You got all worked up over us stealing _this?_ ” Azula exclaimed.

Zuko swiped it out of Mai’s hands with a scowl. “I didn’t want to rewrite it.”

Mai rolled her eyes. “Oh, and take five whole minutes out of your life?”

In fact, that letter had taken a half hour to write, because of all the drafts he’d gone through. Zuko wasn’t about to let them know there were other attempts, and made a mental note to burn them all when he returned to his room. Especially the one where he got into a tangent about _Love Amongst the Dragons_. 

Ty Lee slumped to the ground, her head in her hands. “How unromantic. You should send him something more exciting, more - _sexy!_ ”

“Isn’t he a sailor, or whatever?” asked Mai. “He’s probably bored as hell out there. Nothing but other alphas and empty ocean.”

“Give him a taste of what he’s missing on the main land.” Azula’s grin was probably meant to be coquettish, but it had too many teeth.

Zuko pursed his lips, clutching the letter to his chest protectively. Zhao had mentioned loneliness, but he’d taken it for an objective, interpersonal loneliness. Was it childish to write back as he had? Still, he’d die of embarrassment before he’d write anything halfway flirtatious. 

“I’m not going to write him an erotic letter.”

“But why not?” Ty Lee whined. “Isn’t that the whole fun of having a fiancé?” Her eyes went wide, and she leapt to her feet. “Hold on - maybe you just need some inspiration!”

The three watched, puzzled, as Ty Lee ran over to one of the bags strewn on the ground by the pond and rooted around inside. When she found what she was looking for, she held it aloft like a glorious prize. 

It was a book. Zuko didn’t dare step any closer to the girls to get a look at it; the most he was willing to do was lean towards them and squint. He took in the dramatic portrayal of a white-haired woman in painted face and billowing robes, held aloft by a shirtless and muscular-looking water tribesman. Behind them stretched snowy mountains against a twinkling, starry sky. The title was splashed across half the cover in a font so elaborate it was almost unreadable, but Zuko nonetheless tried to decipher it.

“... _Caress of the Moon-Spirit?_ ”

“It’s a romance,” Ty Lee gushed.

“We can see that,” Mai intoned.

Although she was quickly losing credibility, Ty Lee would not be deterred. “It’s super sexy and so, so tragic - see, she’s a princess, and he’s a commoner who mysteriously appears in her village, and they fall in love _instantly,_ but she’s already engaged so she has to resist her lust! But then one night the princess goes into a heat, and you’re afraid these palace guards are going to, like, rape her, but then this _huge white wolf_ appears and kills them! And it turns out the commoner was blessed by a moon spirit to turn into a wolf whenever someone he loves is in danger, and he’s been secretly protecting the princess, like, her entire life! And then-”

“Well don’t give the _whole_ thing away,” Azula sighed. “We’re just _dying_ to read it ourselves.”

“Yay! Who wants to borrow - wait.” Ty Lee pouted, lowering the salacious cover from where she’d had it thrust triumphantly in the air. “Are you being sarcastic? It’s really good, I swear!”

Zuko wondered why he was listening to any of this; the girls were no longer hounding him, so he could approach Iroh’s door unmolested. He swept past Ty Lee, who was still trying to get her friends to see the value in her bodice-ripper, her usually perky body language beginning to droop as they increasingly rebuffed her. Although they had officially declared their disinterest, Zuko kept his arms crossed over his chest to protect his now thoroughly crumpled letter. None of the girls so much as looked up at him as he went past.

When he knocked on the wood panelling of the screen door, there was no answer. He waited a moment or two before knocking again, but of course Iroh wasn’t in; he would’ve come out to see what all the yelling was about earlier if he had been. 

Irate at all the trouble he’d gone through for nothing, Zuko was determined to return to his room and spend the rest of the day with the door locked. But before he could make his exit, the sounds of a deep, male voice stopped them all in their tracks. From around the far wall swept a guard, his face grim. 

“Princess Azula?” he called. “We have been looking everywhere for you!”

She looked at him as if he were an insect she was debating whether or not to swat. “Oh? And why does a random guard deign to scold me? You obviously should’ve been looking harder.”

He seemed to struggle with this response, but eventually bowed low in deference. “Forgive me. But the Fire Lord wishes to speak to you, urgently.”

Zuko suppressed the urge to ask if his father had wanted to speak to him, too, not wanting to attract Azula’s mockery. Instead of asking outright, he watched the guard, waiting and hoping for some response. But the guard only nodded in greeting. “Good afternoon, Prince Zuko. We only need the princess, for now.”

Azula did not take the opportunity to tease her brother for being snubbed; instead, her expression remained impassive. “Wait here,” she ordered her friends. Then she walked off with the guard. 

* * *

Iroh was not home to defend Zuko from the onslaught of teenaged girls because he was in the city, looking into the herbalist shop where Azula had purchased her wares and supposedly spotted Zhao. The shop ended up being a run-down building located outside the main shopping district, in a not-so-nice residential area. But once Iroh passed through the rotting wooden door, he was surprised to find a clean and meticulously organized place of business. All manner of treatments lined the walls, jars of enriched honeys and serums and pickled creatures. Given his affinity for such curios, Iroh was surprised he had never heard of this place before.

The shopkeeper smiled broadly the moment she saw him, leaning across the counter to pur a greeting. “What an honor, to see the crown-” But she caught herself. “ _General_ Iroh. What has brought you to my shop?”

He forgave her the slip and told her he was just browsing. Would she tell him about her deals for the day? The tinctures she was most excited to have in stock? She was more than welcoming in her response, perhaps even a little flirtatious. Only after he’d lulled her into a sense of comfort did Iroh broach the real reason for his visit.

“By the way… A man I know visited your shop a few days ago. A naval officer named Zhao. Do you remember him?”

Her smile suddenly took on edges. “My customers often do not give me their names.”

“I see.” Iroh scratched his beard. “Well, this man, he’s quite tall, with sideburns. He would have purchased something to do with pheromones, and then returned it around the day of the new Fire Lord’s coronation. I was curious what he bought, and what he said he needed it for?”

Iroh wasn’t sure he was describing Zhao correctly, since he was using a second-hand description gathered from his niece and nephew. But the shopkeeper rapidly turned cold and surly. 

“If this is a man you know, then why don’t you ask him yourself?”

Iroh maintained a light smile. “He’s at sea. I figured that coming down here would be much faster than writing a letter.”

He thought it was a rather good bluff, but the shopkeeper’s frostiness remained. “My apologies, but I make a point not to discuss past purchases with anyone. My client’s privacy is of the utmost importance to me.”

Iroh pouted. “There’s nothing you can tell me?” He was leaning on the counter with both elbows, and up until that moment she’d been in sync with his body language; but now she pushed back from the counter to stand, arms crossed, her expression firm. 

“I’m sure a man of your status is unused to being told no, General, but I would not be able to maintain a business if I did not extend the utmost discretion to my clientele.”

“And that policy has no flexibility? Not even for a little donation from the royal palace?” Iroh set his coin purse on the counter, and it jingled invitingly.

But she shook her head. “You can save your donation for someone who actually needs it. I make enough to be quite comfortable.”

Iroh was no stranger to herbalists and their wares, and would normally not discredit the profession. However, her indignance suggested he would need to switch tactics. He kept his smile sugary-sweet, but his next words were not so kind. 

“That’s a very noble business model, coming from someone who would sell toxic aphrodisiacs to a teenaged girl. A teenaged _princess_ , no less.” Iroh had lowered his voice, eyes dashing to the other customers milling about. He hoped his message was clear; he spoke softly, now, as a courtesy, but he could quickly make things much uglier if he had to. 

The herbalist had an expert poker face. “I haven’t any idea what you mean,” she insisted.

Iroh narrowed his eyes. “You sold leech-a-pillar fungus to my niece. It made her sick.”

“I’m sorry to hear about the princess Azula, but do you have any proof it came from my shop? Leech-a-pillar fungus is a common remedy; she could have bought it from anyone.”

Perhaps if he had brought the remains of what she’d purchased they could compare with what was being sold here, but Azula had burned the evidence. Frustrated, Iroh said, “She led me here. How could she direct me to this shop if she hadn’t been here before?”

“She led you here?” Fear flashed in the woman’s eyes, and they darted to the door. “Is she here with you now?”

She was basically admitting the princess had a right to be furious with her. They had met before! Triumphant, Iroh said, “She is not here with me now, but I could always bring her back. The fungus left her indisposed for several days, and she has been rather furiously looking forward to her recovery.”

General Iroh, out-maneuvering the enemy once again. But his pride was short-lived; the woman’s face sagged with defeat, and the wrinkles that deepened there reminded him that he wasn’t dealing with highly-trained Earth Kingdom soldiers. This was an old woman trying to run a business.

“What was I supposed to do?” she asked, voice plaintive. “Deny the girl? She would have either burned my shop to the ground with me inside it, or had me executed for treason. Better to give the little monster what she wanted and send her on her way.”

Iroh was struggling to maintain the righteous fire he’d held in his belly when he first marched into this shop. This woman had sold poison to a child... but a child who had all the force of her firebending and political power at her beck and call. If this was a one-sided conflict, it was not in this woman’s favor.

Iroh sighed. What a fruitless battle he had become entangled in. “I’m sorry for how forward I’ve been with you today. I’m just worried. This man, Zhao, is marrying my nephew, and I was alarmed when I heard what he had purchased. I just want to ensure that my nephew will be safe in his care.”

The shopkeeper crossed her arms; not defiantly, but defensively, as if to hold herself. “As I said before, I get many customers, and they don’t tell me their names. I would give you information on this man if I knew for sure who you meant, but I truly don’t. I can let you look in my ledger, if you like, but it’s not terribly detailed. Just the date, the item purchased, and the associated price.”

It could help narrow down what had been purchased that day, but not why, and not who had purchased it. This woman seemed to have little else to hide, and her last desperate attempt to appease him seemed just that. An act of desperation. He would take no joy in bullying her further. 

Understanding that he had hit yet another impenetrable wall, Iroh pushed off from the counter and gave her a respectful bow. “I will stop badgering you. Thank you for the lovely chat earlier.”

Defeated, Iroh left the herbalist’s shop. Now that he had squandered his lead, he was at a loss for what to do next… or if he should even continue. Pausing by the shop window to ruminate, letting the traffic of the city wash past him like a powerful current, he wondered if he’d gotten too caught up in finding something wrong with Zhao. After all, he had no leads on Ursa. Perhaps in an attempt to do something for Zuko, he had gotten carried away, trying to bring him back some information of value when there simply was none. 

And there was the matter of Azula’s claim. He had been mothering her as of late, and so had been remiss to think ill of her, but the fear in the shopkeeper’s voice had reminded him of his niece’s less savory qualities. After all, Azula had a pathological streak; she could have made up the fact she saw Zhao at all, and lied to Iroh for the pleasure of seeing him squirm.

He needed to stop pondering this in the street. Strangers were pushing past him with urgency, perhaps not realizing who he was without an entourage to escort him. With a heavy heart, he resolved to return to the royal palace.

* * *

Of course she remembered the commander. She’d never caught his name, but who wouldn’t remember such a peculiar transaction, and on the eve of Fire Lord Ozai’s coronation, no less?

The herbalist gave herself a chance to catch her breath, hands braced against the counter. When she calmed down, she dared to look up at the window, and saw General Iroh was still standing outside. He wasn’t looking back at her. His gaze was distant and filled with an immense sadness. 

She wasn’t stupid. She kept up with current events as well as the next citizen, and knew all that he had been through recently. She remembered how plaintive he had sounded when he told her the reason for all his intensity with her, his desire to protect his nephew no doubt a huge weight on his shoulders. For a moment, she was temped to leave her shop unattended to run after him and tell the truth.

But she couldn’t. It was bad enough he knew about the princess. If he found out about _that…_ Spirits, she had caused harm to both of Ozai’s heirs, now, hadn’t she? Just her luck. She’d had no idea who that commander was engaged to - who could’ve ever imagined _this?_ Even if General Iroh suppressed that dogged temper he had lashed out on her moments ago, she doubted she would be so lucky when his brother, the _Fire Lord_ , found out.

She would make arrangements to leave the capital as soon as possible. She lifted one trembling hand to her face, just to confirm it hadn’t gone numb from the fear. She hated having to pick up and leave, but she had to. It would be better than facing the wrath of the royal family once they discovered what she’d done.

* * *

Back in the gardens of the Lesser Hall, Zuko found himself itching to return to the safety of his room. Now that they were alone, without his sister as a buffer, he feared Ty Lee and Mai would descend on him like wolves. And they did. But not as he had expected.

“So…” Ty Lee approached him with a hopeful look. He suppressed the urge to flinch away. “What’s your fiancé like?”

He didn’t understand the purpose of the question. What mockery could they derive from this information? “I - don’t know.” 

Mai huffed, her hands on her hips. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

He faltered. “I only met him twice.”

“Is he tall?” Ty Lee asked.

They were both looking at him as if his answer was of vital importance. It was a little unnerving.

“He’s - taller than me.”

“What do you like best about him?”

He fumbled for an answer, unsure that he knew his fiancé well enough yet to have a favorite quality. But then he remembered clutching Zhao the morning his mother disappeared, the soothing reassurances that had unwound his panic. “His voice.”

Mai snorted. “God, why? Is he that ugly?”

Ty Lee gave her friend a gentle shove. “No, stop! Have you never liked someone’s voice before?” She turned back to Zuko. “Did he send you an engagement gift yet?”

“Uh, yeah - it was a golden tiger-monkey statue.”

“What?! Who would even want that?”

“I don’t know. It sure was… something.”

The itching desire to leave faded as the questions about his impending marriage piled up. Was Zhao rich? Important? Kind? Before long, Zuko had sat down with the girls, and they had passed ten minutes in relative comfort. He’d been alone around Mai here and there, but he hadn’t realized Ty Lee was actually quite nice when his sister wasn’t around. He’d just assumed her cheeriness came from a mean-girl fakeness, but she sighed and swooned over his descriptions of Zhao more than he did. She seemed genuinely happy for him. 

Almost without thinking, he started telling them both the details of his first conversation with Zhao - reflections of the self in the other, the need to be seen and to share yourself with someone. He hadn’t told anyone else about what he and Zhao had talked about that day. With a spark of pain, he realized the last person to ask him about it had been his mother, and he’d rebuffed her.

“Wow,” Ty Lee sighed when he had finished. “That’s _so_ deep.”

They held their breaths. Finally, Mai gave an approving nod. “Pretty cool,” she admitted.

“Yeah,” Zuko mumbled, embarrassment creeping into his voice. They were being nice to him, now, but what if they told Azula later? Had he revealed too much? He fumbled with a blade of grass at his feet. 

“I feel like everyone we know is getting engaged,” Ty Lee said, a pout in her voice. 

“Really?” Zuko asked. “I feel like I’m the only one.”

“That’s because you’re homeschooled,” Mai huffed, giving a dismissive wave of the hand. “If you went to the academy with us, you’d know that almost everyone who presents is engaged by the time they graduate.” She paused. “Usually to other classmates, but your whole deal isn’t _unheard_ of.”

Ty Lee nodded. “It’s almost like a competition to see how quick you get engaged after you present, whether you’re an alpha or an omega. Having a fiancé gives you serious clout.”

That was a relief to hear. He wondered aloud if Ty Lee was eager to get engaged, and she vehemently shook her head. Romance, in her opinion, was best kept to fiction. At this, Mai snorted. “You’re just saying that because you’re useless around boys…” And she went off into a story of how Ty Lee had spent their last Ember Island vacation trying to juggle three different suitors. Ty Lee punctuated this tale with shrieks of mortification.

The more engrossed they were in conversation, the more time slipped from their fingers, unnoticed. A gentle breeze swept over the garden. Mai complained that it had gotten gray out, and suddenly Ty Lee was on her feet. “Oh, shoot - it’s late! I said I’d be home ages ago!” 

She snatched her things from the bank of the turtle-duck pond, seemingly stuffing objects into her bag at random. She was mid-wave goodbye when she paused to stare straight into Zuko’s eyes. He was worried she was remembering who he was and how little they liked each other.

But then she beamed at him. “I have something for you!” 

Ty Lee shrugged off her knapsack and dug around inside. Then she thrust a book into his hands. “I hope it gives you the inspiration you need to spice up that letter!”

It was another romance novel. This time, the person swooning in the arms of their muscular lover appeared to be male. Zuko could tell from the scandalously parted robes revealing a flat, bare chest.

“This one’s about a male omega, so it’ll be more useful to you!” Ty Lee explained.

Before Zuko could refuse, she’d bounded off, yelling her goodbyes. He was too tired to give chase. He just covered his face in embarrassment, ruing the soft, throaty chuckles coming from Mai. 

Speaking of voices - he had always liked Mai’s. It had a rough quality he found charming, and though she laughed rarely, when she did, the sound was always such a pretty contrast to her usually solemn demeanor. When was it that they had last been alone together, anyway? Zuko remembered a balmy summer afternoon, sometime last year. They’d been in this same garden, under the awning. The whirring of distant cicadas had faded into the background of his mind as he tucked a lock of hair behind the pink shell of her ear. She had leaned towards him…

He cleared his throat to interrupt his own thoughts. “It’s - it’s weird, to hang out with you guys without Azula. What are you all doing in the Lesser Hall, anyway?”

Mai cocked her head. “Can’t you smell us?” She held out a slim, pale wrist. He fought to control his blushing as he leaned down to scent it. 

It was all-too familiar. Not just because it was Mai’s, but because it was similar to his. “...You’re an omega?”

“Ty Lee, too.” She pulled her wrist away, hiding it in her lap. “Azula didn’t want us to draw your dad’s attention. He’s not exactly keen on her hanging out with unmated omegas.”

Zuko frowned. Unless they had pulled off a legendary feat of espionage to get in, chances were that someone would know they were here, and the information could easily get back to Ozai. “What did you tell the guards at the front gate?”

“That we’re friends with you.”

“Oh. Sorry you had to lie.”

Mai scoffed at this comment, but neglected to engage with it. They fell into an uncomfortable silence. 

So Mai and Ty Lee were omegas, too. They must’ve presented fairly recently; their hair and clothes didn’t seem to reflect their status yet, and instead they dressed as they always had. Maybe it was trendy for people their age to stick to a more gender neutral style. Or was it a rebellious thing? He truly had no idea what other teenaged omegas were like. He only knew what his own family had imposed on him.

Zuko was quickly realizing that this was his only chance to talk to another omega and find out. He powered through the awkwardness. “Did school change for you, after you presented?”

Mai quirked an eyebrow. “I mean, they separated me into a class with the other omegas. They said it was to avoid _outbursts_ in the classroom, like we’re all animals who want to fuck through the lessons.”

Zuko blanched at her glibness. “Well, I don’t just mean getting separated. Have they changed what they’re teaching you?” 

With some difficulty, he explained Master Aloki. Mai wasn’t a bender, but she still would’ve been encouraged to approach some kind of combat training when she was younger that she may’ve been forced to give up like Zuko had his firebending. He vaguely remembered her being skilled in throwing knives.

When he was done explaining his situation, Mai sat back in the grass and took on a pensive expression. “...There’s definitely less emphasis on combat, but that’s kind of an elective system, so my parents just keep paying for the lessons. I don’t have to deal with the decorum stuff, but I mean, I get it. My parents have asked me to comport myself a certain way pretty much my entire life, you know. It’s all, stay quiet. Don’t overreact. Bottle it all up and maybe it won’t harden into a tumor and kill you someday. It’s almost like they knew, or just assumed how I’d turn out because it’s more common for girls.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “When I presented, I remember thinking that it wasn’t a surprise at all. They basically trained me to be an omega my entire life.”

His chest ached to hear her say it. He wasn’t sure he could say anything to make it right, so he didn’t say anything at all and felt guilty for it. Mai took the initiative to fill the silence.

“I’ve heard of that teacher of yours. Aloki. Some of our classmates work with him. He sounds like an asshole.”

“He is,” Zuko mumbled, half-listening. He was trying to think of something comforting to say in response to Mai’s confession; maybe that he understood, or that he was glad not to be alone, or maybe, maybe, some perfect sentiment that would bridge the gap between them.

But then a guard arrived. “The Fire Lord requests an audience with you, Prince Zuko.”

* * *

Iroh didn’t realize how exhausted he was until he had returned to the royal palace. As soon as he settled down in his favorite alcove, with a perfect view of the imperial lawn, he felt the soreness reverberate through his body like a wave. A servant girl he didn’t recognize promised to fetch him some tea, and he responded with a grateful if weary smile.

He stared out the nearest window into the rapidly graying afternoon. The usual birds had scattered, perhaps in anticipation of some oncoming storm. He was relieved he’d come home when he did. There was a pressure in the air, one that pulled at the fire in his veins like an ancient ache. Sometimes a good rain was just what the spirit needed, but now, it only made his unease grow.

“Your tea’s been steeping for some time, sir.”

He hadn’t even noticed the servant return from the kitchen. He shook himself out of his thoughts, thanking the girl as he pulled the strainer out and set it aside. He hadn’t entirely ruined the cup, but it failed to soothe his anxieties. He allowed himself a sigh.

The servant girl spoke up, her voice hesitant. “Is everything alright, sir?”

“Yes. I’ve just had a bit of a long day.”

She hovered with her tray pressed to her lap. There was a beta scentlessness about her. “...You’ve been keeping rather busy since your return to the palace.”

Indeed, he had. There was much to do, and much grieving he had avoided in the process. But he had shed so many tears in Ba Sing Se, he wasn’t sure he had any left by the time he’d returned home.

She seemed to take his silence for an invitation. The girl sat down at the table opposite him, but with her limbs stiff, as if prepared to flee at a moment’s notice. “I heard you asking some of the other servants about Lady Ursa. Did any of them…?”

As he raised his eyes to hers, she seemed to lose her nerve, trailing off. He cocked his head.

“No one would speak to me,” he replied, measuring his words. “I imagine they didn’t see anything.”

“...That wouldn’t surprise me,” said the girl. “After all, she… she left under the cover of night.”

The whims of fate were mysterious. Sometimes it took days of toiling, of reaching your lowest point, to coax even the smallest triumph out of hiding. Iroh said a silent thanks to whatever spirits may be around before he urged the girl to continue. “Tell me what you know.”

The girl had seen Lady Ursa the night before they found out that Fire Lord Azulon passed away. The girl normally would not have been up so late, but she had awoken from a stressful dream, and stepped out under the veranda to watch the stars and calm herself. 

“Do you remember what you dreamed?” Iroh asked, wondering if it was the will of the spirits that the girl observe this event.

His question seemed to throw her. “Um, no, not really. But that’s not surprising,” she amended, quickly. “I can never remember my dreams.”

She continued, explaining that she’d been about to return to bed when she saw a light in the distance, coming out of the opposite wing of the Lesser Hall. Although the figure kept covering it up, it was clearly a lantern light bobbing there, held aloft by a person. The girl had been frightened, ready to call a guard, but stopped when the lamp light caught the figure’s face and she realized it was Lady Ursa.

The girl had to run to catch up. Lady Ursa neither looked back during the pursuit, nor did she seem to be running away from the girl. She was just determined to keep her pace. When the servant’s hand on her cloak made her turn, there was a flash of something in her eyes that made the girl ask if she was okay. 

She was gently rebuffed. “I’m just going for a walk,” Lady Ursa had said. “Please go back to bed.”

The servant had looked at her closely. No injuries were in clear view, though the cloak could have concealed them. She wasn’t carrying any bags. No cries rang out from the rest of the palace. The longer the servant stood there with a noblewoman looking at her expectantly, the less she was sure that the situation should be any cause for alarm.

Finally, the girl went back to bed. When she awoke the next morning, Lady Ursa was gone. Later that same day, the servants were ordered not to speak of her, lest her disappearance distract from greater concerns regarding Azulon’s death and Ozai’s coronation.

“Why didn’t you tell someone the instant it happened?” Iroh asked. 

The girl hung her head in shame. “If there was nothing wrong, then I would have caused a scene for nothing. I didn’t want to embarrass her. After all, her behavior wasn’t bad, just unusual.”

A noblewoman taking a late night walk certainly was unusual. Suspicious, too, considering what would happen in the Great Hall that same night.

“What time of night did this happen?” asked Iroh.

The girl shook her head. “I can’t say for sure. Maybe three, four on the morning.”

Eventually, the girl was excused to see to her other duties. When she had gone, Iroh struggled to process all he’d been told. So Ursa really had left of her own accord, in the middle of the night, the same night his father had died. Without taking a carriage or palanquin, she theoretically could have made the walk between the halls, although it was a taxing one; Iroh himself made a point to walk that path if only to keep in shape, but if Ursa were involved in any unseemly activity, she would have needed to avoid where the guards walked. And given the open, volcanic earth between the inner and outer court… certainly she would have been seen?

Iroh wasn’t sure he trusted Ozai’s insistence that Ursa had nothing to do with their father’s death, but he also wasn’t sure that her disappearance wasn’t a coincidence. The only fact that was certain was that Ursa had not been taken: she had chosen to leave.

The old man leaned back in his chair with a weary sigh. No, that wasn’t all. There was one more fact of which he was absolutely certain; Zuko would be devastated to learn this.

* * *

They met in the throne room, as if he were a foreign dignitary or a senator coming for a meeting of political importance. However, on his first glance inside, Zuko could almost swear he’d walked into the wrong room, as distinctive as the looming double doors carved with intricate designs may be; for inside, the flames that usually burned along the dais and cast the room in harsh light had been extinguished. Instead, a few torches were lit at the far corners of the room, giving the space only the barest inkling of light. Perhaps it was the effect of the fires being dimmed for once, but the room seemed terribly cold. Zuko shivered, pulling his robes tighter around himself as he stepped inside, pulling the heavy doors shut behind him.

A table had been brought out below the platform. Ozai sat at its head instead of on the platform, and gestured for Zuko to take a seat at his left hand. They would neither be separated by height nor fire, creating an illusion of equality. This realization brought no comfort.

Dazed, Zuko did as he was silently bid. His questions sat stale in his mouth, forgotten as he stepped into a deeply unfamiliar territory. Which isn’t to say he didn’t recognize the room and the man sitting in it - but all of it seemed displaced, like a mirror-world distortion of the real thing.

When he took his place, Ozai did not announce the reason for their meeting. His eyes scanned over his son, as if appraising him for faults. Zuko suddenly remembered his destruction of the reception room in the Lesser Hall some weeks ago and was choked with fear that he was about to be punished. Or perhaps Ozai had heard of his late night forays in bending with Iroh, and he would order them to stop? Zuko’s hand went to his left wrist - not to frantically rub, lest that feed Ozai’s anger at him, but just a touch. Protective.

When Ozai spoke, it was in a smoother tone than he had ever heard his father use. “How are your lessons going?”

Zuko faltered, partly because his father never asked him about himself, and partly because that meant he didn’t know how he was allowed to respond. Was he supposed to be honest, or placating? He hated the lessons, obviously, but surely he was wrong to admit that.

Ozai filled the silence before he could. “You seem to be coming along well. I’m told your temper is maintained.” He tilted his head, seeming to notice something. “Your posture still needs work.”

He reached out, not at all roughly, but Zuko’s spine went straight in anticipation of violent contact. 

“Yes - exactly like that.”

Ozai seemed calm, but this meant very little. Zuko had seen his father go from a pensive silence to thunderous rage in a matter of seconds. This could still be a meeting to discuss something Zuko had done wrong, something his father was angry with him about, and the longer they went without addressing it, the more Zuko’s stomach twisted into painful knots.

Eventually, his father released a put-upon sigh, as if the thing he was about to say was an annoying formality that neither of them particularly wanted to address, but now must. “I haven’t been entirely forthcoming on the matter of your mother’s disappearance. I know you resent me for how I’ve handled it, but I can assure you I had my reasons.”

Even as the mention of his mother lit a fire in his veins, Zuko’s first instinct was to placate. “I don’t resent you. You did everything you could.”

Ozai looked at him as if he was confused why Zuko was talking. “Yes. Well, the truth of the matter is that your mother was unhappy for a long time and wanted to leave Caldera. I urged her to stay for as long as possible - she has obligations here, after all - but then a man from her past wrote her, and, well. You could say that the dam broke.

“I suppose she’s always been quite skilled at concealing her feelings. I only knew about the affair because I found her letters and confronted her about it. I thought we had reached an agreement, but maybe I didn’t push hard enough. My father was ailing. I had other things on my mind. And so she took the opportunity to slip away.”

Ozai paused briefly, as if to give Zuko an opportunity to speak. But Zuko couldn’t make any of the millions of questions buzzing around his head slow down long enough to seize hold of his tongue. And so Ozai rambled on.

“She left a note explaining herself. Soppy mess. I didn’t tell anyone the truth right away because I thought, when she heard that I had been crowned Fire Lord, she would see reason and return. But then she didn’t, and frankly, I don’t see a point in pursuing her if this isn’t the life she wants. Apparently, one of the last matters she wanted resolved before she left was that she wanted to ensure _you_ were in capable hands. She wanted to make sure you were set up for adulthood. Once your marriage was assured, she could leave peacefully.”

“Can I…” Zuko stopped himself. Remembering. Etiquette. “May I please see the letter she left?”

There was that unnerving stare again, going on for just a tick too long before Ozai responded. “No.”

Zuko nodded, as if this were a reasonable response. “And she… didn’t leave a way to get in contact?”

“No. She was quite clear that she did not want to be followed.” Ozai’s frown deepened. “Such a disgrace. She had everything she could ever want here, and all that was asked of her was that she maintain the smallest morsel of self control. I suppose that’s too much for some omegas.”

As he went on, eschewing Ursa’s failings, Zuko felt himself growing smaller and further away. He expected to feel fury at her betrayal curling in his belly, begging to erupt in his veins, but there was no spark. He wasn’t just an intricately painted powder keg, after all. Somewhere along the line there had been something indestructible poured into the cracks of his exterior, so that any fire lit deep in his belly would burn, controlled, devouring all the air in a vacuum until choked out by its own smoke. His father told him the truth of what happened to his mother and he maintained his outer composure while the pieces of his inner world crumbled and fell into a bottomless chasm and disappeared. He felt everything. He felt nothing.

Ozai hummed with approval. “I didn’t expect you to react to this news so calmly. I underestimated you.”

* * *

When a messenger hawk finally touched down on the Mengchong with a missive for Commander Zhao from his fiancé, it came attached to an official-looking envelope bearing the Fire Lord’s personal stamp. Zhao opened this first. It read simply,

_Tell the boy whatever he needs to hear to remain placated, but do not go looking for Ursa._

Zhao had no idea what it meant until he read Zuko’s letter, at which point he remembered how the boy’s mother had gone missing the morning of their engagement. It had completely slipped his mind; he had assumed they’d find her by now. A shame.

It seemed a little childish Zuko even thought he could help, all the way out in the Earth Kingdom, but he _was_ just a kid. Zhao wrote out some empty words of assurance at the top of his next letter to soothe Zuko’s concerns. To Ozai, he wrote out a fittingly curt response:

_Understood, my lord._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what if your dad called you into his office to say your mom didnt love you and then, like, negged you a little, just to keep the wound bloody


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the years leading up to their reunion, Zhao and Zuko exchange letters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zhao is italicized, Zuko is not.

_ To Prince Zuko - _

_ I’ll continue to do what I can, but thus far there’s been no word on Lady Ursa’s whereabouts. I will keep an ear to the ground, or at least to the main deck, so to speak. _

_ How is the Dragon of the West enjoying his retirement? I’d imagine a man of his infinite experience is feeling antsy at home, with nothing to do. I do hope you’ll extend him my condolences regarding the late Fire Lord Azulon. _

_ Regards, _

_ Commander Zhao of the Mengchong _

Zhao -

Disregard my earlier request about my mother. It seems she doesn’t want to be found. Sorry to bother you.

Uncle appreciates your condolences. As for retirement, he loves having nothing to do. He spends all day playing pai sho with servants and drinking his weight in tea. The only time he leaves the palace is to shop. He has pretty much no impulse control, so the palace financier has asked me to start accompanying him into the city on his shopping trips. 

Regards,

Zuko

_ To Prince Zuko - _

_ I’m sorry to hear that. I know it’s not the same, but my father passed away a few years back, so I know how deeply it can hurt to lose a parent.  _

_ I apologize for the delay in this response. We were temporarily cornered by a small Earth Kingdom fleet, but we made quick work of it. Although really, to call it a fleet would be a quite generous description for a bunch of yokels in boats. At least it kept us entertained. _

_ Regards, _

_ Commander Zhao _

Dear Zhao,

It’s alright. I know you must be busy. 

Do you get to firebend very often? I imagine you don’t experience very much close combat in the navy.

Regards,

Zuko

_ Dear Zuko, _

_ It’s true that we don’t go toe-to-toe with the enemy often, but you’d be surprised by the amount of sparring that goes on between officers. Some of it’s friendly, or at least for the purpose of keeping skills sharpened, but plenty of it is borne out of aggravation. There’s already talk of an Agni Kai between the first mate and one of the stewards. The first mate found a bone in his komodo-chicken and he’s convinced it was put there for mutinous reasons. I think if he’d slow down and look at his food once in a while instead of blindly inhaling it, he would have avoided choking. But as it was, he got himself embarrassed in front of the entire mess hall and feels a need to save face. I’m curious to see how it all plays out. _

_ We’ve been fending off more of these Earth Kingdom boats, lately. They only ever come in twos. I suggested to Admiral Chadeng that we split up and move half the fleet further down the channel. She seems amenable to my idea. I’m eager to see it through. _

_ Regards, _

_ Zhao _

Dear Zhao,

The Agni Kai is a sacred tradition not to be thrown around lightly. Does that sort of thing happen often in the military? Why don’t they just fistfight like a bunch of commoners, while they’re at it?

Speaking of firebending, Uncle told me a story about you recently involving your father’s carriage. What stance were you trying to master? And where did it go wrong?

I hope your plan is a success.

Zuko

_ Dear Zuko, _

_ If memory serves, I wasn’t trying to master any stance so much as I was trying to conjure the biggest ball of flame possible. I certainly succeeded in that respect, although my aim was certainly off. Color me embarrassed. What family friend told your uncle that charming little story? Were there any other stories? Nothing to cause alarm, I hope.  _

_ Trust me, there are plenty of fistfights as well. It’s just what happens when you’re cooped up together in a floating metal box for too long. _

_ Since I last wrote, we’ve moved down the Mon Sai and managed to locate an outpost we missed on our initial trip up. It may have been built after we got here, but given how extensive it is, I doubt they could have constructed this in a few short months. It’s well hidden, and seems to serve several major supply chains. It’s a good thing Admiral Chadeng followed my suggestion for us to split up, or we may not have found it. _

_ Regards,  _

_ Zhao _

Dear Zhao,

Don’t be embarrassed. I think it happens to every firebender eventually. If it makes you feel any better, I nearly burnt down the Lesser Hall a few months ago. 

Uncle says the story came from Governor Darah. Sadly he didn't have any others to share. He told me you have two brothers, though, and that one of them used to be close to my father. What was he like back then?

I’m glad your advice turned out for the best. 

Regards,

Zuko 

_ Dear Zuko, _

_ I’m also glad things turned out the way they did. If it weren’t for my recommendation, we wouldn’t be planning an attack on that outpost now. Its elimination should cripple trade in the western Earth Kingdom. Omashu might fall faster than expected. _

_ There’s a considerable gap in age between my older brother and myself, so while I remember your father being around, I don’t remember the specifics terribly well. I was maybe eight when he stopped coming over? If memory serves, our most esteemed Fire Lord has always been a deeply serious and reserved person, although there was one time where he and Wei got into some trouble with [REDACTED BY THE OFFICE OF HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE FIRE LORD] _

_ Forgive me, I momentarily forgot you were a firebender. It’s not common to cultivate those skills in an omega. How far are you in your studies? Have you been working on anything lately? _

_ Much love,  _

_ Zhao _

Dear Zhao,

My training stopped when I presented. One of the last techniques I was working on was simple chi meditation. Uncle says self-control is key, but it’s so boring to practice. 

So, who won the Agni Kai? The first mate or the steward?

Best,

Zuko

_ Dear Zuko, _

_ I don’t blame you. I also hated chi-centered work when I was your age. Truthfully, I think it’s all a bit overblown, something old masters throw in to keep students busy and stretch out the hourly pay. I’m sorry to hear your training was stalled, but I suppose you wouldn’t have much use for it anyway, given you’re not exactly working up to a position in the imperial army, hm? _

_ The first mate won the Agni Kai. It was unmatched from the beginning, what with a senior officer facing off against some lowly kitchen worker.  _

_ Much love, _

_ Zhao _

Dear Zhao,

I’m sorry to hear about the steward’s loss - hopefully he at least has an interesting scar for the trouble.

Have you heard the rumors coming out of the South Pole? It’s not true, is it? Uncle’s beside himself.

Best,

Zuko

_ Dear Zuko, _

_ I can assure you I have no idea what rumors you mean. _

_ The steward is dead. As I said, it was an unbalanced competition from the beginning. _

_ Regards, _

_ Zhao _

Dear Zhao,

You haven’t heard about the Avatar’s return? If it hasn’t reached the Earth Kingdom, it must just be a rumor. It’s all anyone talks about here, though, especially Uncle. He’s been going on about Avatar Roku’s feats and his friendship with Fire Lord Sozin. It’s funny, I’ve always thought of Roku as a relic of the past, just some name to memorize during history lessons. Maybe even a traitor, because of his insistence against a world united under the Fire Nation. But he accomplished a lot of interesting things during his lifetime.

It’s awful to hear about the steward. I can’t believe he died over a badly prepared meal. What was his name?

Regards,

Zuko

_ Dear Zuko, _

_ I apologize, I didn’t realize you meant the rumors regarding the Avatar. Yes, it’s all anyone can talk about here, too. I’ve heard all kinds of wild, conflicting stories, depending on who’s just got mail from home. Apparently he can fly into the air like a bird, and he’s either a shriveled and balding man over a hundred years old, or a scrawny teenager. No one can decide. I’m curious about what they’re saying locally (it’s not like we can just ask, now that we’ve razed the surrounding settlements), but we’ll probably hear when the troops coming from the west meet up with us. Remember the outpost I mentioned, along the Mon Sai? We eliminated it, after all, and are leveraging its stores to prepare our own invading force. We aim to take Omashu. _

_ You know, I can’t recall the steward’s name. It’s not that sad, honestly. He shouldn’t have accepted the challenge in the first place. At least it made for an entertaining fight. _

_ Much love, _

_ Zhao _

Dear Zhao,

That’s good news. Omashu has been a long time coming. I guess the faster it falls, the faster you’ll return home. 

I wish your fleet good luck. You most of all, of course.

Best,

Zuko

P.S. I’ve also heard the flying rumor. It sounds like a fantasy, but I guess we don’t really know what airbenders are capable of. They’ve been gone for so long. 

Dear Zhao,

Sorry to double-up on the letters. Just want to make sure you’re okay. I’m sure you’re in the middle of normal war-time stuff and can’t write. You’ve just never gone more than a month between letters before, and now it’s been, like, three, not that I’m counting it against you. Just worried.

Uncle’s been telling me a lot about airbenders lately. Apparently he bought some scrolls from a travelling merchant on our last trip into the city. I must not be watching him closely enough. They cost a fortune. They’re interesting, but it feels wrong to have them, like we could get in trouble for it. How did they even survive? I thought all trace of the airbenders had disappeared, but since the Avatar’s return, this sort of thing has been popping up more and more. The scrolls could be fakes, of course, but their contents are so boring that I doubt anyone could make this up. It’s mostly recipes and everyday life kind of stuff. Did you know the airbenders were vegetarians? And put very little emphasis on strength training? No wonder their forces lost to ours.

Thinking of you. Stay safe. Or maybe that’s a boring wish for a commander. Stay strong?

Zuko

Dear Zhao,

Sorry to write again so soon, I just really wanted to share something. 

I think the Avatar’s heading for the North Pole. I’ve been mapping the places where he’s supposedly been spotted, and it’s not a straight path, but if you draw a line of best fit, he seems to be heading north. I guess he’d be fairly safe there. We’ve never figured out how to invade it, at least. 

Do you think he’s still in training? He’s probably looking for a waterbending master. That would support the rumors that he’s a kid, since he still has a lot to learn, but I still don’t understand how there can be an airbender so young. They were all wiped out generations ago.

Best,

Zuko

Dear Zhao,

With things the way they are right now, I’m sure sending you this letter by hawk isn’t much better than throwing it straight into the ocean or the mouth of Caldera itself, but it’ll calm me down to write to you, and I really need that because all the usual stuff I do to keep calm hasn’t been working, lately. I breathe and count like I’m told, but I think I need some way of letting it out. I have all this energy just building up inside me with nowhere to go. 

I’ve been thinking of how to spend my days now that there’s less to fill them. That’s the worst part of all this omega business, not just that I’ve had to quit things I enjoy doing, but the fact that there’s so much time I could be devoting to them if I were just allowed. Uncle tells me to just enjoy my leisure time and relax, but of course he doesn’t mind staying so still. He’s had a lifetime of fulfilment and hard work leading up to his retirement. But I didn’t ask for all this free time, it was just handed to me. I’ve been told that school and bending would just distract from my obligations as an omega. But I don’t have children, I don’t have a home to run, and I’m not even married yet, so I’m just waiting and bored and completely unable to keep my mind busy.

So I guess I’m hoping Omashu falls, soon, so you can come home, and my life can begin.

Best,

Zuko

Dear Zhao,

Again, I hope you’re alright. Sorry if these are bothering you. Or if they aren’t arriving at all. I just need somewhere to focus all this energy. 

It’s stupid, but I keep thinking about my mother. I don’t know what brought it up, I thought I’d buried it all, but I found one of her old scarves amongst some clothes I haven’t worn in a while and I just 

Why didn’t she tell me where she was going? She should have asked me to go along. I would’ve said no, but she still should’ve asked. She should have at least told me how I could contact her. You said it wasn’t the same as having a parent die, and it’s really not. It’s not that I wish she were dead, but if she were, I would at least know how I’m supposed to grieve.

The only upside to her leaving is that it’s brought my father and I closer than we’ve ever been before. Although I guess “close” still isn’t the right word for it. But he speaks to me every so often, still far more than I'm used to, and he seems to like when I apply what I’ve learned from Aloki (have I told you about Aloki?), which is to say that he’s less inclined to take out his anger on me when I hold my tongue or suppress the urge to act on an impulse. I used to say and do things that made him so angry all the time, and now that I do and say almost nothing, he’s finally happy with me. Which I suppose goes to show that I have the wrong instincts, most of the time. 

So it’s not as bad as I was saying before, being an omega. Because of what I am, my father’s expectations have actually sunken low enough for me to meet them. I suppose that makes you eager to marry me, knowing I have terrible instincts and little to offer but the fact I know when to shut up.

I’m sorry for rambling. You can ignore it, if it’s too heavy.

Thinking of you,

Zuko

_ Dear Zuko, _

_ You would not believe what I’ve just been through - I wish I could go into detail, but who knows if this letter will even make it to you. Our enemy has been intercepting messenger hawks left and right looking for more detail on our movements. As a result, I think I missed the last few letters you sent. Forgive me. _

_ Much love, _

_ Zhao _

_ Dear Zuko, _

_ Just received your letter about the whereabouts of the Avatar. I have no idea how long ago you sent it, but the remains of the bird meant to carry it washed up on the river bank recently. Apparently our communications weren’t just being stolen, but shot down. You’d think the letter would have dissolved in the Mon Sai, but the metal tube they fitted to the hawk’s back was sealed so tightly that not a word was damaged. Will you mock me as superstitious if I call this a sign? If we’re to believe the rumors that he’s truly back, I suppose the Avatar could be headed anywhere, but the North Pole would indeed be a strategic choice.  _

_ Do you know why the Fire Nation has never invaded the North Pole successfully? It’s because the past fleets who attempted it were commanded by knuckle-dragging imbeciles who thought they could simply burn their way to victory. They didn’t bother to study how the Northern Tribe lives and stormed in, assuming they’d be ready just because they brought a lot of ships and a lot of men. They managed to nail down the most basic details, sure - any child knows you need thick coats and good boots for snow, and the icebreakers we outfitted in our fleets had enough success in the South Pole that we assumed we had made all the technological advancements necessary. But the resources available to the Southern Tribe were no match for what was waiting in the North. Because previous leadership was so lacking in foresight, because they figured it was all the same, just waterbenders and snow, they lost reams of valuable troops and suffered one of the Fire Nation’s greatest humiliations in the last thirty years of war. _

_ It would take an admiral with unprecedented foresight and skill to successfully seize the north. Such a feat could be a major turning point for the war. But the dreams of men without the resources to fulfil them are merely that - dreams. _

_ Pray Omashu falls swiftly so that I might return to the capital. _

_ Much love, _

_ Zhao _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was fun to write. I really liked sneaking tinier details into the composition of the letters. They also lie to each other quite a bit, both deliberately and simply by omission :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years later, much has changed. Zuko anticipates Zhao’s return home.

The reception room of the Lesser Hall was so quiet, that even the most subtle sounds were amplified. The light chirrup of crickets in the garden just outside. The slide of a bare foot on a bamboo mat. The soft inhale and exhale of its two occupants, breathing in sync. If he shut out these gentle distractors, Zuko could feel the flow of energy in his body, the rush of blood from his chest to his fingertips to the soles of his feet. 

He cracked an eye open to make sure he was still in the same stance as his uncle. He noted the differences and made a few corrections, gaze wandering to the screen door behind Iroh. If you squinted, as Zuko did now, you could tell that the color was just slightly off, painted to look ancient when it had actually been put there just two and a half years ago. Zuko remembered his childish act of grief and clamped his eyes shut, trying to wrestle the memory away.

As if able to read his mind, Iroh murmured, “Don’t let yourself be distracted, Zuko.”

“I’m not distracted,” Zuko lied.

Iroh took a slow, audible inhale. “Feel your chi flow through the tips of your fingers and down into your belly. Remember to never let it catch your heart, and always divert it through the stomach…”

Zuko inhaled, just as slowly, but out of sync with his uncle. “I am moving my chi. I have no idea if I’m avoiding my chest.”

“Concentrate.”

Zuko spoke in even tones, mimicking the meditative one his uncle had set. “This technique would be easier to practice if I had actual lightning to work with.”

“And just as I said on Ember Island, when I first showed you this method. I will never, ever do that to you.”

It was bad enough Zuko was one of the only benders in the royal family unable to produce lightning. He couldn’t even practice the technique to redirect it, because Iroh was being overly cautious. It was an argument they’d already exhausted, and Zuko bit his lip to keep from replying. He tried to concentrate on the task at hand instead, but the energy in his body felt… wispy. Weak. He tried to picture the burning flame of the morning sun, but it was no use tricking his body out of what it inherently knew, which is that it was ten o’clock, on a night where the moon was practically full, and there was little to no solar energy to draw from. 

It was hard, having to practice firebending at night. His inner flame yearned for the hot touch of the sun. But they did what they had to; since Ozai had “adjusted” his education, his uncle had no choice but to instruct him at night. “Consider it a training weight,” Iroh had insisted. “When you do bend, it will be especially powerful, because you’re used to working with a handicap.” But Zuko doubted the validity of this claim. His uncle was a patient and skillful teacher, but there were limits to what he could impart. Most of all was the experience of a real fight, where another person would not hold back out of concern for his well being. 

There was that pent up energy, again, itching to be freed. Zuko pushed it down, deep into the chasm, until he could no longer hear its cries.

There was a tap on his shoulder. Zuko opened his eyes and saw Iroh standing before him, looking at him with concern. “You’re still not concentrating.”

Zuko blinked. “Not now that you’ve said that.”

“I can feel your chi, Zuko. It’s buzzing inside you is like a furious hornet. Would you like to talk to me about it?”

“No.” He relaxed out of the stance he’d been holding, feeling his limbs sing with relief at no longer having to be held taught. “I just want to make the most out of what will probably be our last lesson.”

“Only for the immediate future.” Iroh smiled, but his eyes weren’t in it. “I’m not going anywhere, Zuko. If you need me, I will be right where I’ve always been.” Then, when Zuko wouldn’t say anything, “Are you feeling nervous? It’s normal to be nervous.”

Of course Zuko was nervous. He had seen the man he was supposed to marry a total of two times, more than two years ago, and had only spoken to him in scattered letters since. Despite that, when Zhao finally arrived tomorrow, he would become a permanent fixture in Zuko’s life. He’d always be there, in Zuko’s living space and in his bed _,_ every single day - that is, when he wasn’t fucking off to god knows what continent, leaving Zuko alone with reams of screaming children. He was going to turn into a sad old maid who clipped articles about Avatar sightings, up until some despot finally caught and murdered him, of course, and then Zuko would have literally _nothing_ but an unused fire building up in his limbs so hot it’d raze the goddamn country to the ground if it was ever let loose.

Zuko let these thoughts wash over him. And then he breathed, and let them go.

“I’m fine,” he said, in even tones.

Iroh quirked an eyebrow. “You’re not the least bit nervous? Your wedding is in mere days. Zhao is arriving tomorrow. Your father has drummed up the event to…”

“Everyone’s telling me to be nervous about the wedding,” he interrupted, voice dry, “but the only thing really bothering me is the fact that everyone in the Fire Nation is going to know my heat cycle.” 

Iroh let out a hearty laugh at that. “It’s tradition to get married a day or so before your heat. It’s so new couples can start on their first child right away.”

Zuko crossed his arms for something to do. Definitely not defensive. “I know that. But I think It’s invasive. I don’t want all of our guests just… _picturing_ it.” It was paranoid, but a part of him was convinced someone would use the information against him. If you knew someone’s cycle, you could subtly exclude them from all manner of events; just imagine scheduling every summit, dinner, and treaty discussion knowing exactly when your rival would be indisposed. You could also discredit any decisions made within a week of someone’s heat, chalking it up to pure hormonal impulse.

Honestly… It reminded Zuko of something Aloki had said to him a long time ago. He was glad to never have to talk to the bastard ever again, and would have wept with relief after their final lesson, had Aloki not trained him so well in the art of docility. But there had been a time where Zuko hadn’t yet mastered the skill of wrangling his passions. In a moment of frustration, he had lost his temper. As soon as his snarling, cursing rage had passed, he had stood inside himself, wracked by fear of what Aloki would say or do to put him in his place. 

Aloki’s eyes had been completely lacking humor when he looked at Zuko. But there was no venom there, either. “Have you finished your little tantrum?” he asked. “What do you think you’ve accomplished, by losing your temper with me?”

Zuko had floundered over a reply, and Aloki had, in his usual imperious way, lifted a hand to stop his excuses. “You can’t come up with an answer because there is none. Your outburst will not end these lessons. It will not change what you are. You’re now so consumed with embarrassment and shame that you probably did not even feel a temporary relief. I know you think little of me - most of my pupils do - but I am not teaching you these things purely to torture you. I am teaching you to remain calm and composed and obedient because that is all you will ever have at your disposal.”

Perhaps time and distance from the memory had put it there, but Zuko could have sworn there was a sadness to Aloki’s voice. “Everyone - not just alphas, but _everyone_ \- will point to your heats as evidence that you are irrational, and cannot be trusted with your own decisions. We as omegas cannot change our biology, but we can maintain the utmost composure the rest of the time. It is our responsibility to ourselves to appear as credible as possible. Otherwise you will never be taken seriously.”

For a moment, Zuko could actually picture Aloki at his age, on the receiving end of the same speech from another embittered omega. It was a humanizing moment. Juxtaposed with years spent enduring verbal abuse at his hands, the memory was unsettling.

Back in the present, Iroh was still looking at Zuko with the hope his nephew would confide in him. Zuko willed him not to push the issue, and the temperature of the room seemed to drop. Perhaps it was a draft. Iroh frowned, rubbing his arms.

“...Let’s get warmed up. I have a few more exercises we can go through before we finish for the night.”

* * *

The three figures in the garden were dressed alike. They had the same wide sleeves, the same sashes tied high around their waists, albeit in different colors, according to their preference. They’d grown their hair similar lengths and had it pulled back into half top-knots, the hair that was free cascading down past their shoulders. But that was where the similarities ended. Their body language was dramatically different, Ty Lee moving with her usual wide gesticulations, shoulders loose, generous with her smiles. Mai had her arms crossed, dour and wholly self-contained in her reactions.

And then there was Zuko. Azula watched her brother offer only the occasional, wan little smiles, his hand raising to cover his mouth when he risked showing any teeth. (She loathed how boring he’d become to tease, the creepy way his eyes went completely blank when he’d smile into her insults.) His posture was perfect, ram-rod straight, his every movement practiced and careful. When he spoke, which wasn’t often, the other two omegas seemed to hang onto his every word.

It was so _cute_ to see them all bonding, brought together by their inferior sex. Azula had no idea what they were talking about, but it was probably something pointless and twee, like Zuko’s impending wedding, or the oh-so dashing alphas they desperately wanted to impregnate them. 

She was interrupted from her musings by a warm, familiar voice. “Azula! I didn’t realize you’d arrived today. Welcome home!”

Azula turned away from the window to find her uncle standing in the doorway, his arms outstretched, his eyebrow cocked in question. After a moment, she gave a curt nod, allowing him to approach and _briefly_ hug her, but only because he was so pathetic and lonely that he probably needed it.

When Iroh pulled away, he followed her gaze out the window, to where the traitors were conversing with her brother. “Have you said hello to your friends yet?”

“They’re not my friends,” she corrected him.

Iroh was puzzled by this. “I seem to remember you were close to those girls, when you were younger…”

“Yes, well, now the thought of enduring the senseless chatter of those inverts makes me want to gag.” 

Iroh smiled at her as if she’d said something perfectly charming. “Alright, alright. I won’t push you. All the more opportunity for me to monopolize your time home with us.” He sat down opposite where she sat, at a table by the window. “How long will you be with us, for?”

“Only a few days,” she breezed. “Enough time to see Zuzu’s disaster of a wedding and leave.”

She expected him to either rebuke her prediction of disaster or go on and on about how excited he was for the ceremony, but he simply tutted and said, “Your father has sent you all over the Earth Kingdom as of late. We haven’t had a chance to play a game of pai sho together in so long.” 

Azula felt her lips quirk upwards before she could stop them. “You miss losing to me, old man?”

“Very much so. I learn something new every time we play.” He put his hands together. “Would you perchance humor me with a game? I’ve enjoyed playing with servants, but no one in the palace is nearly as good an opponent as you.”

Azula’s eyes returned briefly to the window. Mai had apparently said something _oh so_ dry and witty that she had the rest of the group in stitches. Ty Lee had her head thrown back, and Zuko was clutching his mouth and shaking with undoubtedly quiet and repressed laughter.

“Fine. Let’s go play somewhere quieter.”

* * *

“Is she still glaring daggers at us?”

They looked at each other expectantly, not wanting to be the one caught looking. Finally, Ty Lee braved a peek at the window, glancing quickly over her shoulder. 

“She’s gone.”

Zuko breathed a sigh of relief. He had been hoping that Azula’s recent absence meant she was too busy to come home for his wedding, but then today he’d woken up and there she was, wandering the Lesser Hall, offering jabs and condescending remarks to every servant she passed. He’d waited for her to approach him and say something biting all morning, but she never had. It only made him all the more anxious for what mental terror tactics she’d employ later.

“Are we mean for ignoring her?” Ty Lee worried.

“ _No_ ,” Mai insisted, a little more forcefully than necessary. “We’re right here. It’s her problem if she can’t just walk over and say hi to us.”

“She seems lonely…”

“You’re projecting,” Mai said with finality. “She’s the one who started it. She knows what she did, and she can suck it up and approach us if she _actually_ misses us all that much.”

Zuko didn’t interject, not wanting to get into the middle of their spat with Azula, but something in Ty Lee’s theory rang true. The trips abroad were first and foremost meant to test Azula’s strength, to use her as the weapon she’d been trained to be, but Zuko had a sneaking suspicion Ozai was also trying to drive her away from their uncle. They hadn’t exactly become a happy family in the last two years, but while she continued to terrorize Zuko and the household staff with glee, Iroh was always exempt from her depraved machinations. It would be generous to say she had a soft spot for him, but… Iroh certainly had one for her. And her response to it was to allow him some semblance of peace.

“Let’s talk about something else,” Ty Lee relented. “What’d you think of the last book I gave you, Zuko?”

He sighed. “It was fine. A little too violent for me, though.”

Ty Lee frowned. “Violent? But no one even dies in that one…”

“He’s talking about the sex,” Mai quipped. “I told you he’d want to read something more boring.”

Mai was always accusing him of being naive. It was unfair, considering they all lacked real world experience with the matter at hand. Zuko insisted, “I’m not _totally_ against it, it just… seemed like a little much for the main character’s first time.”

Ty Lee giggled. “That’s fair - I just want to make sure you have a lot of different references at your disposal. For, _you know_...” She seemed to be struggling to find a euphemism, and ended up just elbowing him instead.

Zuko pursed his lips. He was getting married in just two days. He could guess what she meant. “I do know, thank you.”

“You have to show him at least _one_ trick you learned from a romance novel,” Ty Lee insisted. “Otherwise what was the point of reading them?”

Zuko could have scoffed. “Getting through a heat in one piece, obviously.”

“Show him your crazy conspiracy wall,” Mai quipped. “I’m sure that’ll turn him on.”

She was clearly referring to the corner of his room devoted to tracking the Avatar. It was the result of hours of hard work and research, and frankly Zuko didn’t see how it could be the slightest bit of a buzzkill. “What’s wrong with my wall? It’s not that bad.”

Mai looked to Ty Lee in askance. The other girl gave an uncomfortable smile. “Um, Zuko, since you presented, you’ve just become this, like… really elegant and put-together person-”

“Thank you.”

“-so it’s kind of a freaky contrast to step into your room and see all that, uh. Mess.”

Zuko suppressed the urge to pout. “It’s not a mess. It’s just a lot of material. I’ve told Zhao about it before, and he seemed supportive…”

“Did you just tell him you have an interest in the Avatar, or did you tell him you spent a month comparing wanted posters so you could narrow down the detailing on his tattoos? Because there’s a big difference...”

Zuko pointedly avoided eye contact. Mai crossed her arms with a smug smile. “I thought so.”

Even though they were torturing him, Zuko was relieved his friends had been able to come today. If he was alone with his thoughts for too long, he felt like he was on the verge of vibrating apart from anxiety. His father had insisted his wedding was a major opportunity to draw in certain political figures, and to send a message to the nation about unity in war-time. As such, Zuko’s marriage was becoming more and more of a major political event. If anything went wrong, he wasn’t just failing himself, but the Fire Lord and the Fire Nation.

And he had very little control over how it would all go. Being royalty meant that the brunt of the wedding preparations were shouldered by the palace event-planner. Zuko had only been called upon for the fitting of his robes and to practice walking up and down the pavilion in it without tripping. (Out of the corner of her mouth, Mai commented about the selfishness of highjacking someone else’s wedding, to which Zuko had responded with a confused silence. His father wasn’t highjacking anything. Zuko’s marriage had never been about anything other than uniting Kirachu with the rest of the Fire Nation.)

And then there was the matter of Zhao’s arrival.

“I want to see him so bad,” Ty Lee wailed, shaking Zuko by the shoulders. “Maybe even worse than you do!”

“I’ll say,” Zuko laughed, softly. He knew his friends hadn’t just come to comfort him today; they were understandably curious. Maybe even a little nosy. “I’m so tired of stressing out over our reunion, I just want to see him to get it over with.”

He looked at Mai, about to say something, but lost the thread when he saw how deeply she was gazing into the distance. Hers was a far-off look, as if she were miles and miles away.

But it disappeared just as quickly as he had noticed it. She turned to him and offered him a small, somewhat sad smile. “It’ll be fine. He’d be crazy not to fall in love with you on-sight.”

* * *

He’d been so close. Months spent on that stupid Mon Sai campaign, and what did he have to show for it? A measly commendation and one brisk pat on the shoulder that, even now, filled him with a mix of shame and rage. Any idiot could get a commendation. He had plenty already. What he needed was a promotion to admiral, but Chadeng had refused. 

Zhao’s blood boiled when he remembered the placating smile she’d given him. Gloved hands folded before her, she’d asked him what he’d have done if he was in her position. It was a trap, obviously, trying to coax him into saying he’d promote himself so she could brand him as a narcissist. 

“You’ve been valuable to me, Commander Zhao. But I have to think of the long-term commitments to this war. I need someone by my side capable of making the right decisions-”

“And I have,” he urged, but she shook her head.

“I’m not saying you haven’t. If you hadn’t interrupted me, I’d have told you that I also need a partner I can trust to be at my disposal for the foreseeable future. Your time with us always had an expiration date.”

“In what way?”

Her smile tightened. “Let’s not pretend. Your engagement to the Fire Lord’s son is meant to fulfill a political purpose. Your obligation to Kirachu will soon outweigh any aspirations you have in the navy.”

He stood stunned in her cabin, the muffled sounds of the crew moving around outside the only thing that permeated his senses. “You’re blaming the righteous decisions of our most esteemed Fire Lord for this?”

One sharp eyebrow quirked. “How do you figure that, Zhao?”

“The Fire Lord saw fit to name me his son-in-law. And you’re punishing me for it.”

There was too much amusement in her responding smile. “Somehow, I think your position with the royal family will afford you plenty of opportunities to climb rank. Just not here, and not now.”

And that was it. She had shooed him out of her cabin like a steward who had come to bitch about his wages. In an instant, his attitude towards Admiral Chadeng and the years spent under her tutelage had soured. Didn’t she understand that he had plans, and becoming admiral was key to their success? He’d throw the stupid commendation medal into the ocean if he weren’t about to get married; she was lucky he needed something to spiff up his uniform.

Zhao should be celebrating. Omashu had fallen. For the first time in ages, he could relax and take time off from the demands of his position. But he found his reprieve was doing the opposite of relaxing him; what ties would be strengthened while he was away at the royal palace? What new campaigns was he missing out on? He was itching to get back out on the water. He needed to talk to the Fire Lord as soon as possible. Maybe if he spun it right, he wouldn’t get sent home immediately; he could get transferred to a better position, or at least somewhere further north… 

He was so obsessed with these details the entire boat ride back to the capital, that he almost didn’t notice the extravagance of the carriage sent to collect him at the docks. “Almost” being the key word. Was that actual gold lining the wheels? Three footmen rushed towards him, one taking his trunks, another opening the door, and - Agni, the last one had actually kneeled and offered up his cupped hands for Zhao to step into and hoist himself up into the carriage. A weaker man would get positively drunk on this power. 

Well. He was in a rotten mood. And it was _his_ wedding. He wouldn’t black out, but he was permitted to get a little tipsy.

One of the footmen explained there was a spare room in the Lesser Hall prepared for him. Zhao vaguely remembered that as the smaller of the two palace halls, and wondered aloud if there were any other options.

“In fact, sir, your family arrived in the capital yesterday. They left a note with the royal palace that you are welcome to stay with them in the city proper, if you so desire.” 

Zhao cringed at the thought. The autumn home was meant for temporary visits to the city, and as a result it was nothing compared to the estate back in Kirachu. It was a two-story apartment-style home built to fit into the crowded city capital, with only _three_ bedrooms instead of the evenly-distributed four. The thought of being cramped with them all in such a small space was positively vile. He’d be taking his chances with the Lesser Hall, for sure. 

Zhao left orders with the footman to tell his family where he’d be staying, but to wait until tomorrow to deliver the message. He didn’t want them to know he was in the city, yet.

“Understood, sir. Will you be needing anything else?”

Outside his window, the gates of the royal palace grew larger, guarding the blackened and burned expanse of volcanic earth. “I’d like an audience with the Fire Lord.”

The footman nodded. “I can deliver your request. I must warn you, though, the Fire Lord is busy as of late, and I cannot promise his availability.”

Too busy to make time for his own son-in-law? Zhao cast a withering look at the footman. “I didn’t ask for your commentary. Just do it.”

The footman nodded solemnly. “Understood, sir. My deepest apologies for speaking out of turn.” Hm. Palace servants didn’t have nearly as much back-sass as inferior officers. The man’s face didn’t betray a shred of annoyance or embarrassment at having been called out. Perhaps Zhao could get used to this.

Zhao had never been inside the Lesser Hall before, having seen it only from the garden. It ended up being far less imposing than the Great Hall. Whereas he had expected the same cavernous rooms and ornate statues, the Lesser Hall was actually quite plain. Perhaps because it was a family dwelling and few outsiders came here. The screen doors were left unadorned by paintings of animals and nature scenes, like his own family estate’s, and the wood-panelling was mostly plain, except for a shiny varnish. But the structure was still elegant and the materials used to build it of the finest and most enduring sort. This was a home that felt little need to argue its status. It simply had status.

While Zhao mulled over the architecture, he followed the footmen to his temporary room. Or perhaps not temporary - was this to be his room from now on? They didn’t know, but would get that information right away, sir. 

“Don’t forget my request for an audience with the Fire Lord,” Zhao insisted. The last time he’d been in the capital, Ozai had made him wait a day. Now that he was the Fire Lord, he was bound to tease a little harder, but he’d have to do so with Zhao beating down his door.

The footman bowed. “Yes, sir. Will that be all, sir?”

Zhao waved him off, and the three servants exited. He took the opportunity to absorb his surroundings - again, rather plain for a palace bedroom, even if it was just for guests. There was a desk by the far wall, and what looked to be a sliding door that probably opened onto the garden. He was about to walk over and check it out when there was a soft knock at the inner door. He turned just as the door was opening (which irked Zhao; why bother knocking if you won’t wait for a reply?) but the old man who stepped inside was clearly a member of royalty, given the silk of his robes and the gold ring in his topknot. 

The old man offered a polite bow. “Excuse me, I know you are probably tired from your journey, but I saw them leading you down the hall just now, and I couldn’t resist the chance to see you for myself. Are you Commander Zhao?”

“Yes.” Zhao knew that grin. He had seen it plastered on paintings and textbooks since he was a child. “And you’re General Iroh. The Dragon of the West.” He couldn’t help it; he laughed. “Why is someone as famous as _you_ bowing to _me?”_

Iroh grinned. “I want to make a very good first impression. My nephew and I are very close, and you are bound to get sick of me before long.”

“Never,” Zhao insisted. Right, he did remember Zuko mentioning Iroh in quite a few of his letters. It was in his best interests to win the old man over, so Zhao layered his voice with as much honeyed bullshit as possible and said, “Who could ever tire of you? One of the most prestigious generals in Fire Nation history? The dragon-slayer? A living legend?” Although, since the blunder at Ba Sing Se, the prestige had probably taken a significant hit. Coupled with Ozai’s reign, the textbooks read by youth across the Fire Nation now were probably far less flattering of Iroh than the ones Zhao had grown up with.

Oblivious to Zhao’s rotten internal monologue, Iroh gave a light-hearted chuckle. “Living legend - that kind of thing really just reminds me of how old I am.” He ran a hand over his mostly bald head. “Not that I ever forget my age, mind you.”

“Stop, you look as youthful as you do in that family portrait in the Great Hall.” Zhao personally thought the most jarring thing about meeting Iroh in person wasn’t his age, but how short he was. For an alpha, he barely came to Zhao’s chest. It didn’t fit with the size of the reputation attached. 

In any case, Zhao had had enough pleasantries. He offered a mollifying smile. “Well, it’s been an incredible honor meeting you. For the usual reasons, but also because Zuko speaks so highly of you. I’m really looking forward to getting to know you better, but as you mentioned, I am feeling a bit weary after my travels...”

He was trying to subtly usher Iroh towards the door, but at the mention of his nephew, the old man lit up. “You haven't had a chance to see Zuko yet, have you? I think he’s in the garden.”

Zhao would prefer to retain as much energy as possible for a meeting with the Fire Lord, but he supposed he could spare a few minutes for his fiancé if he had to. Not that he really saw what the rush was. They were about to spend the rest of their lives together, chained at the ankle. 

All it took was a nod of consent from Zhao. Immediately that living legend, the general who had razed countless Earth Kingdom cities to the ground, that slayer of dragons turned into a mundane family man. He ran to the screen door, barely checking to see Zhao was following as he entered the garden and began scanning for his nephew. 

When he’d spotted him several yards away, Iroh raised an arm and shouted, “Zuko! Look who’s here! I caught him before you did.” He was waving at three figures across the yard, posted by the skeletal remains of a large plum blossom tree. Zhao only just registered the thought of _Great, more people I have to introduce myself to_ , when he found himself stumbling to a stop.

Zhao had forgotten how much could change in two years, especially around that age. In a foolish way, he’d been expecting to see the same morose child he’d met before, just a little taller, perhaps more similar to Ozai in appearance. And there certainly was that resemblance - age had melted some of the baby fat from Zuko’s face, brought out his cheekbones, the sharp chin. But he had retained a softness that his father lacked. 

Zuko had been a pretty child, true, but as an adult, he possessed the kind of beauty that made Zhao deeply grateful they’d gotten engaged before the rest of the Fire Nation’s alpha nobility had been bewitched by it. His hair had grown much longer, and hung down well past his shoulders, lustrous like black silk. The frontmost locks were pulled away from his face to reveal a high forehead and unblemished skin, porcelain, as if he was regularly sheltered inside to protect it from the sun. But Zuko wasn’t solely winsome, omega softness; his shoulders sloped, broad, from the delicate neck Zhao was now fantasizing sinking his teeth into. 

Zuko moved forward to greet him, and Zhao was surprised by the sheer grace possessed in a single step. “Zhao. It’s good to see you again.” The voice was raspy and low, with the faintest hint of a lisp. A few years ago the minor impediment had only emphasized how young he was, but now it seemed almost coquettish.

Zhao was aware of the fact he’d withheld his response for too long. He cleared his throat. “Zuko. You look… grown up.”

The twist of Zuko’s lips took on an impish quality. “Thank you, I think.” He took Zhao’s hand when it was offered, his fingers longer and more masculine than Zhao expected, but still, small in his grip. His skin was as feverish as a firebender’s was wont to be, and the adult omega scent coming off of him was just. Otherworldly. It was simultaneously dainty and harsh, jasmine fighting to be noticed amongst scorched earth. Again, that gland on his neck seemed to be begging for Zhao’s teeth. 

Zhao ran his fingers over the hand in his, relishing the sensation of his own weather-worn skin against the milky-smooth palm. Was he projecting, or had Zuko given off the barest shiver when he’d run his thumb down his lifeline?

Zhao hadn’t spared a second glance at the omega girls flanking Zuko; but he saw their heads move, the look they traded, and remembered that he wasn’t alone with his fiancé. He recovered enough to trade introductions and pleasantries, silently preening when Iroh praised the beautiful young couple, and the girl in pink (something Lee?) chimed in that oh, yes, they did make for such a well-matched pair - but look at the time! She pointedly nudged the dour girl beside her, who, after a beat, reluctantly made her own excuse to leave. Then the girl in pink, who was quickly becoming Zhao’s favorite of the extraneous parties here, touched Iroh’s arm and asked if he would help escort them to their carriage.

It took Iroh a second, confused why a pair of frequent guests couldn’t find the way out on their own, but then he seemed to take a second look at Zhao and Zuko and reconsidered any protests he’d been about to voice. “Oh, I know what we’re doing here,” he insisted, with a benevolent smile. “We’ll give the couple some space.”

Zuko’s eyes were fixed on the friend who had done him the favor of clearing out the garden. He watched her back as she flitted gracefully away, eyes lingering long even after she’d disappeared underneath the shadows of the awning with her companions. He must be terribly grateful.

And then it was just Zhao and Zuko, alone again in the same garden where they’d first met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of this reunion in the next chapter


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zhao and Zuko’s reunion, continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments are my lifeblood... thank you to everyone reading this fic!!!

Zuko’s first feeling upon seeing Zhao was relief. Not because he cut a particularly romantic image standing there, gaping at him, but because he hadn’t arrived an hour earlier, when Ty Lee had been loudly explaining all the “tricks” that would help Zuko on his wedding night.

The sheer proximity to embarrassment aside, it was arresting to look up and suddenly find himself fixed in an alpha’s field of vision. Maybe Ty Lee’s romance novels were getting to him, but he hadn’t needed to be close enough to scent Zhao to feel that alpha presence, his eyes boring into Zuko like he wanted to chase him down and devour him. Zuko used all of his strength to wrestle away the heat creeping up his neck. The glory of firebending, reduced to a blush-destroying tactic.

He approached Zhao with a measured grace that was as natural to him as a cauterized wound; these movements had been drilled into him until they came with no effort but the memory of how painfully they could be corrected. But they did the trick. Zhao was mesmerized. Then he took Zuko’s hand in his, and all at once Zuko was overwhelmed by that scent; masculine, heady, and extraordinarily familiar, it had haunted every one of his heats over the last two years. He wondered how Zhao would react, knowing Zuko had not only retained the little keepsake, but brought it out and clutched it to his cheek whenever that feverish rush of biologically ingrained need had come over him. He was so distracted by the effect of finally being in Zhao’s presence that the glide of a rough thumb over his open palm managed to wrench the tiniest shiver out of him. It almost physically hurt, to lose control. Zuko tamped down on the feeling immediately.

The adult thing to do would be to ask his friends and his uncle to leave, but another part of him, childish though it was, couldn’t stand the thought of being alone with Zhao. If this feeling of losing control was so palpable with other people present, he didn’t want to know what it would be like if everyone left. He started searching for an excuse, but Ty Lee, ever the romantic, made a choice for him. She rallied Mai and Iroh, and after some awkward goodbyes, Zuko was alone with his fiancé.

After a pause, Zhao offered Zuko his arm. “Shall we rehash our first date?”

It felt strange to refer to that first meeting as a date. “Date” seemed to imply a voluntary romantic attachment; in truth, it had been more of a business arrangement. Still, Zuko nodded and took the arm proffered.

Date or not, deja vu swept over him as they walked, the similarities to their first meeting standing out as if they glowed. Zhao stood tall and straight beside him, Zuko’s own insignificant growth failing to bridge the gap between them, so that he still felt like a child being guided along by a strange adult. The plum trees were bare again, but this time it was the end of their season rather than right before it, so the garden was scattered with white and pink petals. It made the garden look all the more natural, camouflaging the purposeful arrangement of the plum trees, the turtle duck pond, even the grass - it had all been brought here to make it seem like the Lesser Hall held an oasis in its center. It was an illusion, of course; Caldera was dead earth, and there were stonemasons and gardeners and laborers who had come in droves to create this space for the royal family. 

“It’s strange,” said Zuko. “For the longest time, you’ve just been words on a page to me. I feel like we’ve gotten past the small talk phase, but not any deeper.”

Zhao gave a short laugh. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing. Let’s remedy that, hm? What should we talk about first?”

The events of the next few days seemed to loom over Zuko’s mind like dark clouds, blocking out any other ideas he tried to summon. “There’s too much to go over in too little time.”

“What do you mean? We have the rest of our lives.”

“I suppose...” Zuko had been referring to the time left before the wedding. But that made little difference, didn’t it? They would get married regardless of how they got along in the small hours leading up to their union. They could get to know each other now, or they could do it later.

Zhao put a hand on Zuko’s. “Let’s make a game of it. You ask me something you’re burning to know, then I’ll ask you something. We’ll go back and forth like truth or dare.”

Zuko’s eyebrows crinkled. “Why the dares? We’re just trying to get to know each other.”

“I like the higher stakes. You go first.”

Being put on the spot just made Zuko nervous. “Oh, I don’t know...”

Zhao tutted in mock disapproval. “And you said there was so much to ask.”

“There is,” Zuko said, tamping down the defensiveness he felt rising in his chest. “I just don’t know where to start.”

“Then I’ll do one. All those months we didn’t write, when the Earth Kingdom troops were intercepting our messages - what were you feeling?”

Something twisted in Zuko’s chest. Before he received Zhao’s explanation, he had assumed the worst; that his ship had been attacked and sunk to the bottom of Mon Sai. The longer he had gone without a receiving word back, the more he had come to fear that he’d been widowed before he’d even gotten married. It had dredged up the pain and fear surrounding his other lost loved ones, and given how he’d previously dealt with death in droves, Zhao’s hypothetical demise made him fear deeply for everyone else in his life. There was a brief period he’d been convinced Iroh was next, and had hovered incessantly around his uncle at every turn, looking for symptoms of illness, keeping an eye open for danger.

Then a letter had finally arrived. Zuko had expected to be filled with a deep inner peace with the reassurance that Zhao was alive and well. When he wasn’t, he had assumed it was because he needed to see Zhao in person. That words on a page weren’t enough proof.

Back in the present, Zuko replied, “I was afraid you were gone. But writing to you made me feel like I had more control, so I kept writing anyway. I must’ve sent at least five letters with no response. It really weighed on me.”

Bizarrely, this answer seemed to please Zhao; there was something tugging upwards on the corner of his lips. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. Now, your turn to ask one.”

Zuko chewed the inside of his cheek, thinking. “I know you have two brothers. Are you close?”

Zhao gave a thoughtful hum that reverberated in his chest. The sound thrilled Zuko a little, the depth of it. The effect of being so close to an alpha was different now that he had presented. Even inane details, like the way Zhao looked into his eyes, sent tiny shocks through him.

“I’m not overly close to my brothers, but we write on and off again. I used to follow Wei around a lot, when we were younger, but I think that’s natural when you have an older sibling… no? You’re shaking your head.”

“Oh - sorry,” Zuko said. “I just - my sister, Azula, would never.” 

Zhao’s lips twisted. “Not even when you were younger? Didn’t she ever chase you around to tease you?”

Tease was a mild way of putting it, but… “Yeah, I guess.”

Zhao laughed at that. “See? All little siblings are the same. I did it to Wei, and Yan did it to me - actually, I’m pretty sure the only reason Yan joined the army was because I didn’t stick with it, and he wanted to show me up. Not that that really worked out for him.”

It seemed safe to let their guards down together. They laughed a while longer over the idiosyncrasies of little siblings, and then it was Zhao’s turn to ask a question again. He mulled it over, a wicked smile spreading across his face when he finally decided.

“Have you kissed anyone before?”

All at once, Zuko’s guard was back up. He allowed himself some sternness as he replied, “Of course not. Why would you even ask?” The question felt like a trap. He would not let anyone, even a man he was going to marry, trick him into admitting he was anything but a model of virtue.

Zhao only laughed, as if Zuko’s reputation were an insignificant thing to fret over. “I’m not accusing you of doing anything while I was away, I’m just curious about your life before me. I won’t be upset because of a couple of childhood crushes, I promise.”

It was almost as if he already knew. Had Zuko been casting suspicious glances at Mai today, or was he merely that unremarkable, that his story had been predicted without effort? But even as the memory of a kiss stolen in this very same garden lingered in his mind, Zuko refused to answer honestly. “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

“Then you must be nervous.”

Again, that brashness. “Excuse me?”

“Your first time is going to be in front of hundreds of people. That’s a lot of pressure.”

Zuko had considered that, briefly. He’d let it go because it was simply one worry too many, and now Zhao was trying to dredge up that anxiety all over again. “I’m not nervous.”

“Really?” asked Zhao. “I suppose if you’ve never done it before, you don’t know all the ways it can go wrong.”

And now he was being treated like an inexperienced child. Despite Aloki’s voice in his head telling him to count himself down, Zuko gave into that little flare of indignance and rose to his own defense. “I’m not afraid.”

A hand shot towards his neck. Zuko could not suppress the jolt of fear he gave as it landed - 

But the touch was not violent. It was firm, certainly, but gentle. Fingers and thumb pressed into the skin of his throat, probing.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, just now,” Zhao said, with a smile that suggested Zuko’s flinch had amused him. “I just wanted to feel your pulse.”

Zuko stared at him, as still as an animal caught in a trap. “Why?”

“To see if you were lying, when you said you weren’t afraid of having your first kiss in front of hundreds of strangers.” Zhao cocked his head, eyes heavy-lidded, and now that the fear had fallen away, Zuko was feeling something else entirely, like a low flame rippling in his gut. He swallowed reflexively against the pressure on his neck, and felt the fingers press back.

“Say it again,” Zhao commanded.

Zuko fought to keep his voice from trembling. “I’m not afraid.”

“Alright, then. Here’s a dare.”

Suddenly Zhao’s hands were at his waist, and he was being swept around the corner, up against a wall, their hips flush. “Kiss me.”

From this angle, the difference in height was more apparent. Zuko could feel the texture of the wall against the back of his head as he looked up at Zhao, lopsided smirk brimming with confidence. He undoubtedly knew Zuko wanted to indulge him (Could he smell the desire on him, or was it too soon, too many layers of robe, too many plum blossom petals masking the scent? He could only hope he wasn’t laid so bare), and Zuko wondered if a guard or a servant were to walk into the yard, whether they would immediately turn around and tell his father, or mind their own business.

Zuko swallowed over the lump in his throat. “Like you said. There’s plenty of time to get to know each other later.”

A flash of teeth. “Yes, but aren’t you the one who wanted to speed things along? I promise no one’s going to fault you for kissing your own husband.”

_Soon-to-be husband_ , Zuko thought, but he couldn’t say the words out loud. He was afraid to say something that would escalate the situation, so he now found himself silent.

Zhao’s eyes met his and then dropped, lingering on his mouth. Zuko couldn’t hold in the desire to bite his lower lip, wondering as he released it if it was wet, if it had filled with blood, and then there were Zhao’s eyes on his again, understanding.

Zhao leaned forward, and they were so close already that to get away would require force, would require that he remove the warm grip kneading his waist, push the broad chest boxing him in, so Zuko didn’t resist. He lifted his chin and let Zhao capture his lips, surprised at how naturally the movements came when they were finally together, lips pressing, head tilting ever so slightly. He shut his eyes, and without the visual component, the sensations overwhelmed him. The warm press of a mouth on his own. The barest hint of tongue. The scratch of facial hair against the softness of his cheek, sending the skin tingling.

Zuko reached up, arms curling around Zhao’s neck, and the kiss deepened. Zhao raked his teeth over Zuko’s lower lip, and the feeling - not exactly pain, but the threat of it - wrenched a shiver from Zuko. He mimicked the movement on Zhao, and suddenly there was a bite in every other kiss that made the heat rippling in his stomach flare.

The hand on Zuko’s waist drifted down his hip, sliding across the fabric of his robe as if looking for where there was a part in the fabric, or trying to hike it up. Zuko ignored the tense excitement the wandering hand produced to grab it and gently replace it on his hip, the layers of his robe falling back into place. To his surprise, the hand didn’t move again.

“Sorry,” Zhao chuckled into his mouth. Then after one last, slow kiss, he pulled away. He seemed to be studying his fiancé.

And then a smirk. “Your poor face.”

“What?” Zuko reached up to touch his cheek, unsure what Zhao meant. The older man glanced around the garden, then nudged him towards the turtle-duck pond with a warning. “Might want to wait a minute before you go back inside. It’s… fairly obvious what we’ve been up to.”

Zuko leaned down to catch his reflection in the water, and was mortified to see that his mouth and cheeks were bright red. With a startled cry, he ran his fingers over the splotches of color. “What-?”

“Beard burn.” Zhao crouched down beside him. “You weren’t lying when you said you hadn’t been kissed before, hm?”

Certainly not like that. Zuko held his hand to his cheek, the blush spreading across his face making it all the worse. Not one of the novels Ty Lee had thrust upon him had felt the need to include this little detail, but then again, all the protagonists had scores of unprotected sex without getting pregnant, so he supposed they weren’t the most realistic guides to lean on. 

He felt like an idiot; true, he wanted to seem “pure” and untouched, but not so _childishly_ inexperienced that he walked into a situation like this. Not to mention that if anyone came outside before the redness wore off, his humiliating lack of patience would be exposed. It was _two days_ before the wedding. He couldn’t wait to be legally bound to Zhao before making a fool of himself?

A broad, reassuring hand kneaded his shoulder. “I could walk you back to your room, if you’d like. Keep an eye out for other people, shield you if need be.”

Right - that was the only reason Zhao would walk him back to his room. To _protect_ him. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

“Then at least let me wait here with you.”

Zuko allowed himself to throw an impetuous look the other man’s way, but in doing so their eyes locked and - Agni. He really wasn’t used to being so close to an unmated alpha. “Fine - if you stay where you are.”

There was only a foot of space between them. Still, Zhao held his position, his smile as patronizing as his words. “As you wish.”

* * *

The reunion with Zuko had put Zhao in a phenomenal mood. He barely lost his temper when a messenger came to inform him that the Fire Lord was too busy to talk and would “get back to him in due time;” he just took a deep breath and let his fury pass. He was on the inside, now. The Great Hall was a brisk walk away, and the day after tomorrow, he’d be _family_. Ozai couldn’t deny him forever.

He was in such good spirits, he went back on his original wishes and decided to drop in on his family for lunch. The goal was to celebrate, check out some of the capital’s fine dining, but they had to stay in and have the hired cook whip something up because Ama “wasn’t feeling well.” In truth, Ama had been suffering from the same vaguely defined illness since his husband had died six years ago. The primary symptoms were irritability and a selective fatigue that restricted Ama from doing anything he didn’t want to do. 

Still, even a parent’s fuss couldn’t ruin Zhao’s good mood. He’d had something of an epiphany; all along, he’d been thinking of Zuko as - not a burden, exactly, but a technicality. A detail he had to deal with in order to join the royal family. Now, though, he understood that this was just one more way fate had rewarded him. He’d taken a gamble, sought his glory fearlessly, and now his prize was twofold. It was almost as if a cabal of past Fire Lords or legendary war heroes or what-have-you was blessing his ambitions and paving the way to an even greater destiny. 

Funny, the sway a pretty omega could have. Just this morning Zhao had been agonizing over how to get back on the sea as soon as possible, but now he wondered what opportunities could be sown right here in the capital, close to Zuko.

He couldn’t resist; he fixed his older brother, Wei, with a grin. “It’s funny, isn’t it? Who would have thought all those years ago that _I’d_ be the one marrying into the royal family?”

The bright glare of sunlight on his glasses made Wei’s expression all the more indecipherable. “It’s not that strange. You’ve always had a way of getting what you want.”

“Right. But you’d think another one of us had a higher chance.”

Wei took a prim bite of his meal. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean by that.”

Zhao bristled just the tiniest bit, annoyed his brother wasn’t taking the bait. He pushed harder. “I knew you were bored back home, but I didn’t think you were understimulated enough to develop early dementia. Remember your friendship with Ozai?”

“Right. Friendship.” Wei paused to sip his tea. “You aren’t trying to imply his royal highness would stoop to coupling with a lowly beta?”

Despite the self-deprecating nature of the remark, the barb had been stuck firmly in Zhao’s side. He cast a brief scowl at Wei before changing the subject. “Yes, well. I’m excited for you all to see the royal palace. I know, we’ve seen it plenty of times, but I mean the parts where only family are welcome. When do you think you’ll be up to it?”

If Yan frowned any harder, his forehead was going to have more lines than a map. “Ama hasn’t been feeling well.”

“Yes, I’ve heard. Would it help if Ama could ride over the volcanic expanse in a palanquin?”

Yan looked ready to respond, but Ama cut in. “Perhaps. Can you arrange that?”

“Of course,” Zhao replied, not remotely sure if it was true. “I’m royalty now. Only the best for a parent of royalty, right?” Although he still had a sallowness about him, this promise seemed to perk Ama up. All it ever took were a few glittery tokens; Zhao couldn’t blame his mother, having inherited that particular trait himself.

Yan muttered something under his breath. Zhao couldn’t make it out, but some of the usual bitterness, for sure. Yan couldn’t stand not being the favorite, but that’s what happened when you bit earthbender dust and came home from war a loser with no clear plan. If he wanted Ama’s approval so bad, he could move the hell out. It was shameful for an alpha to wallow around at home at his age, especially when there was already Wei to take care of Ama. When Zhao eventually returned to the Kirachu estate - emphasis on “eventually,” because he was most certainly not in any hurry to stunt his military career by going home - he would not be letting Yan skulk around.

Yan’s gaze went hard, and Zhao realized he’d been staring, probably boring angry holes into his younger brother’s head. He anticipated an argument coming on as a result, but instead of anything particularly belligerent, Yan said, “Have you heard what’s going on with Governor Darah? The Fire Lord’s been pretty displeased with him lately.”

“No, I haven’t.”

Yan scoffed. “Of course. You’re supposed to be marrying the Fire Lord’s son in this big symbolic gesture for Kirachu, but you can’t be bothered with the basic politics-”

“-because I’ve been at war in a hostile foreign country,” Zhao spat. “I will say I’m not surprised by this development. He might be Dad’s protégé, but Darah has the backbone of a pelican-eel. He was never going to last long in the royal court.” 

Since Yan was clearly too jealous of his older brother to talk straight, Zhao turned to Wei, knowing his answer would be less impetuous. “What’s Darah done to piss Ozai off?”

“He slows down political proceedings with travel,” Wei replied. “He returns to Kirachu to deal with nearly every matter hands-on, which would not be an issue if not for the fact that he comes home for every minor infraction. And you know Ozai. He will not be made to wait.” 

“He needs to learn to delegate,” Ama huffed. “Surely he has staff that can deal with smaller disruptions for him?”

Wei nodded in agreement. “I’ve told you of the civil agitators, Zhao? Because Darah wanted to meet with them, fielding their demands as if they weren’t entirely absurd, Kirachu had no vote in the last internal defense council.” His eyes narrowed. “There are now viable firebenders actively being shipped _off_ Kirachu to other parts of the nation because the man can’t keep an appointment.”

Hm. So Governor Darah was finally crashing and burning. Even if that bumbling idiot couldn’t be trusted to run Kirachu, Zhao supposed he could be of use as a bargaining chip with Ozai. He just needed the right opportunity to use this information.

* * *

Zuko spent the rest of the day glancing into every reflective surface he came across. His skin had calmed down minutes after retreating to his room to hide, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking into his mirror again and again, as if convinced the moment he stopped checking, the blood would rush back to his skin and tell everyone who looked at him what he’d been up to that day. 

It didn’t help that he was feeling warm to begin with. Even without visual proof he could feel the blush creeping into his skin, and fought his internal body temperature to reduce it as best as he could. He wasn’t sure whether the feeling was due to his impending heat, or simply the result of having met and entangled with an alpha for the first time. Whatever the case, Zuko had found himself casting nervous glances into his mirror up until the moment he walked out the door. 

As if he wasn’t anxious enough, he had a meeting with his father. Given that all Zuko ever said to Ozai were the phrases “Yes,” “You’re right,” and “I understand,” you’d think he’d at least be alleviated of the pressure to think clearly, but his father was as unnerving a presence as he was unpredictable. His temper could change on a whim, and there were times he fixed Zuko with a bottomless stare seemingly for the sole pleasure of seeing him squirm. 

It had gotten better, in the last few months; the more effort Zuko had put into behaving like a model omega, the more Ozai seemed unbothered by and - dare he say it? - pleased with Zuko’s performance. Granted, there were still times, especially when Zuko found himself internally begging for his father to calm down, to show him some morsel of mercy or kindness, that Ozai would flinch as if Zuko had physically reached out and touched him. In these moments Ozai would grow defensive and enraged, grab a fistful of Zuko’s hair, and snarl in his face all the ways in which he was disposable and unwanted. His scalp started to hurt even just thinking about being alone with Ozai.

When a hand finally reached out to touch Zuko, it wasn’t with any intention to punish, but it gripped the back of his neck in order to steer him towards the table where General Hao and Colonel Mun would be seated. Here is where they would place the guests of utmost importance, who required at least fifteen minutes of sycophantic pandering to put them in a good mood and drop their defenses. It was the usual Ozai asked of Zuko. There was a vote coming up in the war council regarding whether or not to cut resources from the Western Earth Kingdom campaign for use in and around Omashu, and Zuko was to bat his eyelashes and act as though the subject was terribly foreign to him, while also getting these men to divulge their voting intentions so he could report it back to Ozai. 

It was peculiar work to ask of a teenage omega, to be sure; war councils were the work of alphas who were old enough to have seen war and have opinions on how it was to be run. But odd as they were, Zuko enjoyed these assignments. He found the conversations genuinely stimulating, if only for the insight they brought to the workings of the war effort. 

(He knew, of course, that he was merely meant to be a pretty face, a shallow persuasive factor who brought his father political clout simply by having an appealing smile. With no little amount of bitterness, Zuko supposed his wedding would be the beginning of the end of these assignments from his father. Surely whatever power he had over these lonely old men would disappear the moment he was marked someone else’s property.)

At the end of their meeting, Ozai made him repeat back his assignments over and over again until he was satisfied. Zuko had to pause on the grand steps outside the palace before making his journey back to the Lesser Hall, his feet hurting so profusely from being made to stand for hours on end. It was incredible how his father never seemed to run out of any energy during these meetings, just making demands and driving the staff to exhaustion like it was nothing to him.

One thing to be said about his meeting with Ozai: although it rattled him in other ways, it took his mind off Zhao. Zuko almost didn’t notice him passing by in the hall as he stepped inside his room. 

They locked eyes for just a moment, but a moment is all that’s ever needed. A litany of sensations rushed into his mind - the texture of the wall scraping through his robes at his lower back, the slide of a hand up his leg, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, a shuddering moan he’d managed to bite back.

The smile that appeared on Zhao’s face spread like blood in water. Zuko snapped his door shut without so much as a nod or a smile hello. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beard burn? shocked the hell out of me the first time i made out with a dude. scraped my face to all hell. i was like, why didnt anyone tell me about this? did you guys know? maybe i didnt consume enough Romance media growing up. to this day, i still haven't seen it portrayed once though lol
> 
> im excited to post next week's chapter............ ;)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zhao invites himself back to Zuko’s room.

So that’s where Zuko’s room was. A lesser man would tuck that fact away and neglect to act upon it, couching his decision in tradition or respect. However, Zhao hadn’t crushed insurgents at Chameleon Bay or become a key figure in the conquest of Omashu by demurely ignoring opportunities as they arose. He had vital information, and he intended to act upon it.

He waited until it was late enough for the guards on duty to thin out, treating this with the same gravity as a reconnaissance mission. Which, admittedly, wasn’t his forte as a navy guy, but at least he didn’t run into any members of the royal family in the hall. When he arrived, there was light funneling from under Zuko’s door. Good; he’d been somewhat worried the young prince would have gone to sleep already, which would’ve defeated the purpose of coming. He gave a light rap of his knuckles on the wood, hoping to grab Zuko’s attention without alerting any nearby servants.

The door opened, and there was that irresistible scent of ash and jasmine again. Zuko clearly hadn’t been expecting anything but a servant to answer; his hair was loose, free of topknot or any other ornamental fuss, and the casual slip of a robe he had donned in preparation for bed showed just a  _ little _ too much collarbone. Upon realizing who was at his door, Zuko grabbed the neck of his shirt and pulled it closed over the exposed skin.

“What are you doing here?” 

“We didn’t see each other at dinner,” Zhao replied. “I was expecting to spend some time with you, at least, if not the rest of the royal family.”

Zuko’s lips thinned. “I’m sorry no one told you. We don’t do family dinners here. Father dines with whatever dignitary has demanded his attention and the rest of us take food in our rooms.” He stood with the door only open enough for them to speak, his body blocking the way inside. One hand rested on the door, ready to slide it shut again at a moment’s notice.

“A shame.” Zhao placed a hand on the doorframe and leaned into the younger man’s space. “Perhaps we could do some catching up now?”

“If by catching up, you mean like we did earlier, then I think we can afford to wait.”

Zhao bit back a grin; now was not the time to show teeth. He cleared his throat to chase away the predatory edge that was creeping into his expression, schooling himself to look apologetic. “Yes, earlier - I did want to apologize for how things escalated. I know it made you uncomfortable, and that wasn’t my intention. I’m sorry if I caused you any embarrassment.” 

All at once, Zuko’s eyes softened; Zhao found himself wondering if the boy was unused to receiving apologies, seeing how easily he seemed to be buckling under one now. He pushed on. “If I promised to behave myself, would you let me in? I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to spend some time with you. Since it’s an arranged marriage, I’d feel better knowing I’ve done my due diligence towards helping you build your trust in me.”

“...So long as ‘spending time’ isn’t a euphemism,” Zuko eventually replied. There wasn’t any nip in his words; his gaze had fallen away, his grip on the door slackened as though he was about to relent.

Zhao couldn’t resist. “I can’t promise I speak with absolutely  _ no _ euphemism. But I am interested in talking far more than we did earlier.”

For a moment, he feared he’d pushed a little too hard; Zuko’s gaze locked on his with a sharp edge, almost admonishing. But then those eyes were elsewhere, over his shoulder, as the young prince scanned the hall for others. After a moment, he gave a short nod, and stepped away to let Zhao inside.

Zhao strode into the bedroom, wrestling with the triumphant grin that threatened to spread across his face. He was inside. He would be able to capture that sweet mouth again in no time. Dare he even offer to stay the night? Surely he could wake up early enough to be out of here before anyone spotted him.

He was readying a line, but lost the thread entirely when his eyes fell upon the far wall where the young prince’s desk was. At least, he thought it was a desk, at one point. Its shape was concealed by the stacks of papers, books, scrolls littered haphazardly across it, bending from the weight of the mess. It was a wonder Zuko could find anything in that cacophony; Zhao was almost impressed that he’d managed to stack that great, towering mess so high, until he noticed the leaflets scattered on the floor around the desk. Above the clutter, on the wall, was a map of the world with pins tied off by string marking… something. A route, surely, but to what wasn’t clear. There was a jagged zig zag in blue twine, scouring the map without a clear pattern.

He turned in askance to Zuko, who lifted his chin and met Zhao’s eye with a defensive sort of confidence. “...You know how I mentioned I was tracking the Avatar.”

The titles on visible spines seemed to sharpen, one standing out in particular:  _ The Life and Death of Avatar Roku _ . Zhao approached the desk and realized one of the scrolls splayed open was a depiction of the supposed current Avatar: a boy in his mid-to-late teens, the lines of his jaw only just coming into focus. The great blue tattoo coming down his forehead, depicted in swirling, stylized patterns that joined together as one large arrow. In the corner, just below his bounty, a single scrawled note:  _ Artistic liberties? _

Zhao cleared his throat. “Yes, I remember. You told me you thought he was going to the North Pole.”

“Yes. But I’m not sure he ever got there. The news coming out of the Earth Kingdom has slowed significantly since the Fire Nation claimed Omashu.”

“News of him has dried up in general.” Zhao took what seemed to be an Earth Kingdom newspaper in two fingers, and gingerly turned it over. Yes, no doubt, that was their boxy script. How on earth had Zuko acquired all this? “Have you heard the theory that this has all just been a hoax? Rebel nonsense meant to distract from their campaigns against the Fire Nation?”

To his surprise, the demure little prince rolled his eyes. “People say it’s a hoax every time information dries up. It’s like they haven’t seen the pattern.”

“Pattern?” Zhao echoed.

“There are always fake stories being spread about the Avatar, but many of them are just repeats of real stories with some details changed, or exaggerations. If you trace the origin of each report back to where it started, you’ll notice that new information on the Avatar consistently dries up once every three months.”

Zhao couldn’t help but scoff. “You make it sound like he’s going into heat.”

Zuko shrugged. “Or he’s travelling with someone who is.”

Yes, that must be it. They could hardly entertain the continued existence of the Avatar, but one that was an omega? “If the pattern you’ve observed really is there, then I’m sure it’s just due to a companion. Or a deliberate deceit to throw everyone off. Roku was an alpha. The woman before him, what's her name, was an alpha.”

Zuko crossed the room to stand closer to Zhao, although taking care to stay at a chaste distance. He peered down at the mess as if it were a coherent framework. “You’re right. And we don’t know a whole lot about the Avatars before her, but from what little information I’ve been able to pinpoint, it seems Kyoshi’s predecessor died young, without children.”

Zhao was failing to see the connection. “So?”

“So he could have been a beta.” The young prince searched his face for a reaction, but judging by his sigh, he found it lacking. “Look; the Avatar cycles between the major kingdoms each time he is reborn. Fire, air, water, earth. The same order every time. He also cycles between the primary sexes - male, female - although not necessarily in order. Why couldn’t he be cycling between the secondary sexes, too?”

“Maybe,” Zhao relented. He lifted the cover of a book, set it closed again. “Your father must be impressed with all the work you’ve done.”

Zuko shook his head. “He has no idea.”

“Really?” It seemed an awful waste, but the prince only offered a shrug in return.

“Like you said, most people still believe it’s a hoax. I don’t want to bother him with some hobby of mine.”

Some hobby. Zhao allowed himself a short, joyless laugh as he surveyed the sheer breadth of Zuko’s labor. Sure, the bits about the Avatar being an omega were a bit dippy, but given the magnitude of detail put into the research, Zuko’s claims weren’t entirely unfounded. In fact, the more Zhao stared at the map, the more he felt he understood how the Avatar was marking a path north - albeit, a jagged one. Perhaps it was deliberate evasive maneuvering. 

In looking over the material on Zuko’s desk, something caught his eye. There was a healthy mix here of scrolls and wanted posters and hardback books, but the painted detail on the cover made it stand out, even with only one corner visible. When he reached over to delicately pull the book from the mountain of papers stacked on top of it, it revealed a dramatic cover depicting a long-haired figure in a crimson boudoir, robes parted (although tastefully concealing the best bits), while another taller, broader figure stood overhead, clutching one pale, delicate wrist. The taller figure had absolutely absurd facial hair and an eyepatch, giving the impression it was some kind of dopy pirate romance novel. The title, which read  _ Passion’s Ransom, _ only further corroborated this.

“What have we here?”

The moment he picked up the book, Zuko stepped towards him to grab it, but Zhao held it at arm’s length, where he couldn’t reach. Something unreadable flickered across Zuko’s face; the shadow of rage, perhaps? But once it was gone, there was no inkling of what it could’ve been. The young prince instead calmly held out his hand.

“Please give it to me.”

Zhao did not comply. “No need to get upset, Zuko, I’m just curious about your reading habits.”

There was that flicker again. “It’s a friend’s,” Zuko insisted. “She gives them to me all the time, but I don’t read them myself-”

“Zuko,  _ please _ .” Zhao kept the book at a safe distance, but twisted it so Zuko could see the spine. “Look at the creases. This has been read cover to cover more than once.”

“By  _ her _ .”

“Oh, I’m sure-”

Just then, Zuko’s hand shot out, but Zhao caught him by the wrist before he could make contact. He expected a struggle to ensue, but Zuko went rigid and still in his grasp. He was staring at where Zhao had his fingers encircled around his left wrist - maybe silently comparing it to the scurrilous cover of the novel?

Awkwardly (he only had one hand on it, after all, the other preoccupied with holding Zuko off), Zhao flipped the book open. “Where’s your favorite part?”

Through some miracle, he had managed to land on one of the good scenes. He scanned it, holding tight to Zuko’s wrist as the young man recovered in his grasp and started to try to break free. Zhao was loving the pleas coming from the prince’s mouth, the way that low, raspy voice nearly  _ keened _ for him. It was almost as sweet as the way he was pressing himself against Zhao, in the hopes of getting just a little closer, of being able to reach up and take the book from his hands. With all the grinding and breathy begging, Zhao could barely focus on what he was reading, but there were certain words that stood out like beacons on the page.

“Kinky.” He turned to Zuko with a self-satisfied smile. “Would you like me to do that to you?”

Zuko instantly went scarlet. His mouth moved, but he failed to produce any sound beyond stammering. It was fun to watch him lose hold of the straight-faced facade.

Zhao landed a swift kiss to the corner of his mouth and released his wrist, offering him the book. Zuko swiped it out of his hands with a vengeance. His eyes burned with the kind of spite that could only come from humiliation. 

“You said you’d behave.” Said sincerely, almost comically so. He wasn’t running away, but his body was taught, as if he could at any moment. Zhao knew better than to try to touch him again, at least not right away; instead he gave a placating smile and spread his hands, taking up as much space as he could without entering Zuko’s. 

“I’m sorry, I’ve lost control of myself again. But you really can’t blame me.”

“How’s that?” Zuko asked, expression wary. 

“Certainly you know the effect you have?” Zhao raised his eyebrows, hoping he sounded more teasing than smug. “It’s why I couldn’t stop myself earlier, either. You made it very difficult to pull away.”

Zuko’s scowl was diminished by the color spreading in his cheeks. “What are you going on about?”

Zhao allowed himself to show  _ some _ teeth. “You do know that you’re stunning, right? It’s a wonder to me no one’s kissed you like that before when you seem to be begging for it.”

There was that pout again. “Of course I haven’t kissed anyone else, I’ve been engaged to  _ you. _ ”

“Lucky me.” In a moment, he had crossed the space between them and wrapped his arms around the young prince’s waist, aiming to kiss him. Zuko didn’t try to break free, but he twisted his face away from Zhao’s.

“Can’t we wait?” The words were uttered, only audible because of their proximity.

“Maybe  _ you _ can,” Zhao murmured, throaty and low. He ran his lips over Zuko’s ear and felt the heat rise to it. “I don’t think I can wait another second.” His hand ran up Zuko’s back, tracing the dip of his spine through the fabric, then up his shoulders, along the soft skin of his neck, ending gently fisted in his hair. He used this leverage to turn Zuko’s face towards his, to look into the eyes with only the tiniest sliver of amber encircling the blown-out pupils, and when he kissed him this time, there were no protests.

He waited until the young prince relaxed, the muscles under his hand less tense before he licked into his mouth. It was a little clumsy at first, further proof of Zuko’s inexperience, but they went slowly. He seemed to be paying close enough attention to Zhao’s movements that he could copy them. In no time they had a rhythm of swirling tongues, and he managed to draw out a ragged breath from the young prince when the hand on his waist slipped lower.

Zuko started to pull away, and Zhao let him, ready to start negotiating again if need be; but the boy only placed the book back on the desk before leaning up to kiss his fiancé again. The fact he’d put it away cover-down almost made Zhao laugh, and he smothered it by smiling into the younger man’s mouth.

Zhao eventually broke their kiss again to murmur in Zuko’s ear, “Much as I love this, we should move somewhere more comfortable...” And with less conjoling then he expected, managed to guide Zuko towards the bed. They broke apart briefly again as Zuko cast him a look that was - not annoyed, thank the spirits, not frightened, but hesitant. Underneath all the prim excuses, he  _ knew _ what he wanted, but wasn’t sure he was allowed to want it, and Zhao knew exactly what to do with that. He pushed his young fiancé onto the bed, relishing the soft noise he made before Zhao was on top of him again, kissing, down his neck this time, and that was when Zuko finally found his voice.

“Please don’t leave a mark.”

Ah. He was obviously a little nervous with those teeth so near his scent gland. After all, there were two things that publicly separated unmated omegas from mated ones: the natural change in scent that came from coupling, which alphas also experienced, and the scarring on their neck from the deep bites their mates would leave. It was tradition to wait until the first heat they spent together to leave that mark. It would be a bad look for the both of them if a spare breeze pulled the neck of Zuko’s robe open on their wedding day and revealed to the entire royal court their complete lack of restraint. The sight of a mark like that would send the party into a frenzy of rumors. Ozai would probably cook Zhao alive right there, just from the disrespect of it all.

“I’m not going to bite you,” Zhao promised, feeling the heat of his own breath against the prince’s skin. “I wouldn’t embarrass you like that before we were married.” He’d barely touched his lips back to Zuko’s throat before the prince spoke up again.

“And no hickies.”

_ Hickies _ . What were they, teenagers? Zhao ran his cheek across Zuko’s throat, hoping the scrape of his stubble made him wet. “Of course.”

Every kiss he laid on Zuko’s neck afterwards produced a bone-deep shiver. He suspected it was a mix of the sensation itself and the threat that Zhao would go back on his word. He wondered if he could get away with running his teeth along Zuko’s pulse, just to tease, but the risk of being bodily shoved off the bed was too high. He focused instead on kissing lower, pushing the robe open to once again expose the collarbone, the top of his chest. The hand not busy supporting Zhao’s weight was on a mission down Zuko’s body, smoothing across his stomach, searching-

Zuko was twisting in his grasp again. “We shouldn’t...”

“We won’t go too far,” Zhao promised, hand still roaming downward. “Nothing to cause a scandal, I just…” A pause to kiss his chest. “...want to make you feel good…”

It took a moment of gentle nonsense spoken in soothing low tones, of groping through the billowy fabric, but eventually he found the semi-hard outline of Zuko’s cock. It fit perfectly into his hand, a little on the small side, as was typical for an omega, but not so small as to defeat the purpose of a male omega altogether. Zhao grinned into the young man’s chest as he used the layers of silk robe still bunched in his hand to give it a firm, textured stroke. Zuko moaned, breaking off the sound by biting his knuckles, his other hand scrambling for purchase on Zhao’s shoulder.

Using the flat surface of his palm, he stroked the young prince’s cock several more times, then probed further downwards, feeling the shape of his balls through the fabric, cupping, stroking, listening for what touches made Zuko release the most desperate noises. He reached up towards the head of his cock again and, even through the layers of fabric, could feel the wetness gathering at the tip; he swiped in a circle, grinding the silk over the sensitive head with his thumb, and Zuko trembled and moaned underneath him.

It was fun, teasing him through his clothes, but Zhao’s own insistent hard-on was begging him to get on with it. He reached down to untie Zuko’s clothes, the boy watching him but not lifting a finger to help or hinder. Not that Zhao needed help; the robe was fairly simple compared to the elaborate and layered pieces an omega, especially one of royalty, would wear in public. This was more of a hastily-tied wrap, removed by loosening a single knot and pulling either side open.

Zhao allowed himself a minute to survey his conquest, the expanse of milky white skin dappled in shades of red and pink. The boy watched him from beneath thick eyelashes, hand still splayed over his mouth to hide his expression, the black expanse of his dilated pupils giving him away regardless. Male omegas were truly the best of both worlds, and Zuko, as an exceptional specimen, embodied the feminine delicacy and masculine refinement Zhao came to expect. The narrow hips, the fine-tuned muscles of his arms and legs, the definition in the lean stomach - and then of course, between those soft thighs, the cock standing proud over a slick entrance that was simply begging for his knot. Zhao was fairly certain he could glut on this sight the rest of his life and never tire of it. Which was fairly lucky, all things considered. He would’ve never thought an arranged marriage could end so thoroughly in his favor. 

* * *

Things were escalating much faster than Zuko had anticipated. He would protest, but his words seemed to slip from his mouth like a river leading into an ocean, the beginning of one and the end of another indistinguishable, lost, the current of pleasure carrying all coherence away. That heady, masculine scent was too close, too much, bringing with it the memory of every heat he’d ridden out in Zhao’s absence, and those broad hands encircling him seemed to swallow two years of loneliness and replace them with an aching warmth so potent he was almost paranoid he was starting his cycle a few days early.

And then Zhao had pulled away to look at him. With Zuko flat on his back, the height difference was all the more accentuated, with Zhao nearly looming where he kneeled overhead. That, went presented with the broad shoulders, the firm hand and the thick fingers gripping his thigh - it confirmed every image Zuko had come to associate with an alpha. He saw the outline of Zhao’s erection straining against the dark fabric of his pants and almost  _ wanted _ him to go back on his word, to spread Zuko’s legs and fuck him until he screamed, but then he was leaning down, a kiss to Zuko’s abdomen, then a gentle bite of his inner thigh, moving so his mouth was aligned with Zuko’s cock, and-

Zuko didn’t see what happened next because his eyes rolled into the back of his head from the pleasure of the heat that enveloped him. Zhao took him to the root in one swift motion and then pulled back, tongue swirling over the head. Zuko let out a wild, almost unrecognizable sound, before clamping his fist over his mouth again. Anyone passing in the hall could hear them. He needed to be quiet, but it was hard to muffle the noises being wrenched out of his throat. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to contend with the sight of Zhao between his legs, mortified by the chance they would make eye contact. A tongue laved up the side of his cock, broad hands gripped his thighs, thumbs inching ever deeper along his ass, kneading and spreading, and he knew, he  _ knew _ what was going to happen but he couldn’t bring himself to say a word, afraid of the sounds that would come out of his throat and negate his protests.

He had fingered himself before. In the throes of heat, it was hard not to. But his fingers, although certainly no girl’s, were significantly smaller than Zhao’s. When the calloused tip teased at his rim, spreading it with the wetness of his own arousal, he almost bit his knuckles hard enough to draw blood. 

For a fleeting moment, he felt no connection to all those heats prior that he’d done this to himself; instead, he was reminded that Zhao was not the first person other than himself to do this. There had been the doctor who had named his status. He pictured the man bent over him with clinical disinterest, the pain of first penetration. For a moment, he didn’t feel like an omega being pleasured by an alpha, but like a teenager being examined by a strange adult. 

The thick digit slid inside Zuko. And then it slowly dragged its way back out, before thrusting in again. His insides tingled where it stroked, raw and wet, banishing the memory of the doctor and replacing it with a burning arousal. The other hand on his thigh was holding him firmly in place, almost bruising, and he wondered what it would feel like to be held down in that grip. He felt his body temperature creep up as he allowed himself to imagine Zhao’s weight bearing down on him, preventing him from moving as he had his way with the young prince.

Then the finger inside him curled, and Zuko  _ screamed _ .

He immediately shoved his knuckles back into his mouth, face burning. He felt the rumble of a laugh around his cock, a sensation that would’ve been pleasing if it wasn’t also humiliating. Luckily he didn’t have much time to worry over whether he’d been heard; the finger moved again, brushing over the same spot. This time he managed to hold in his vocalizations, suppressing them into a whimper, but his back arched and his toes curled, as if by reflex. All the while he continued to bite down on his knuckles. By the time this was over, they were going to be littered with tooth marks.

Zhao maintained a rhythm, bobbing his head over Zuko’s cock in time with his finger’s thrusts. Zuko’s breath started coming in pants, and Zhao slowly slid his lips off and replaced them with his other hand. He twisted his wrist as he stroked, aided by the wet slide of spit and precum, teasing his thumb over the slit. The next Zuko looked, Zhao had sat up again so he could watch, gaze intense as he fingered and stroked the young prince to a shuddering, gasping completion. 

It was like every muscle in his body had clenched at once, and then released. Not to say that he didn’t know what an orgasm felt like, but it certainly felt more intense when drawn out of him by another person. As a numb, pleasurable tingle filled his limbs, Zuko realized that the hand he hadn’t jammed in his mouth had been clenched tight enough to leave nail marks in the palms of his hand. He didn’t have time to reflect on this observation, though, as he was startled out of his thought by Zhao climbing on top of him.

Zhao made his way up Zuko’s body until his thighs bracketed his chest. Then he yanked his fly open, freeing his erection inches from Zuko’s face. He’d gone semi-soft in the time since he’d switched his focus to pleasuring Zuko, but he quickly pumped himself back to full size. It was a somewhat alarming sight - given its sheer length and girth, it didn’t even look like the same appendage Zuko had. It was obscene to look at, veined and throbbing, swollen with blood. The young prince was further put at unease by the fact that he was trapped on his back, forced to stare it down.

Suddenly, Zuko was afraid Zhao would unceremoniously fuck his mouth; that seemed to be where this was headed, with Zhao fisting his cock in one hand, his other hand finding its way to Zuko’s face. A thumb traced over the young man’s cheek, before catching on his lip to press inside his mouth. Nervously, Zuko obeyed and let it in, shivering when he felt the texture of it slide over his tongue.

But Zhao didn’t force him to suck him off. Instead he held him there and watched his face while he stroked himself. The thumb moved deeper, and Zuko swirled his tongue over it, mimicking the way Zhao had shown him just moments before. That seemed the right thing to do; Zhao shuddered. Emboldened, Zuko hollowed his cheeks and sucked, and the digit in his mouth began to thrust in and out, as if encouraged. Zhao closed his eyes and let out a low groan.

A few minutes later, cum splattered across Zuko’s chest. Zhao went rigid, the thumb sliding free, shoulders slumped. He didn’t move immediately and stayed kneeling over Zuko’s chest, holding him in place, before he finally seemed to catch his breath and clamored off. He grabbed a fistful of sheets and swiped at the mess on his fiancé’s chest, then settled in next to him, to kiss his neck and pull him in close.

“Nice getting to know you,” he murmured, the words hot against Zuko’s collarbone. At the time, Zuko barely registered it, still overwhelmed by the encounter, but he would find it in the mirror the next morning. Just beneath his collarbone, the color of a ripe plum, and no bigger than a thumbprint: one small, defiant mark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zuko: Please give it to me.  
> Zhao: I am going to say the SECOND most childish thing I can think of in response to that,


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zhao finally gets an audience with the Fire Lord. In anticipation of the wedding, the two grooms’ families get to know each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> screaming over the fact my Spotify wrapped was one extended playlist of songs I obsessively listened to while writing this fic
> 
> this chapter was going to be horrendously short, and then i thought of the dinner, and it became horrendously long. apologies. it's also a very original-character heavy chapter, but don't worry, you will not have to deal with them very much again for a while. i just think it's important to see zhao's family dynamic. lay some world-building foundations

“And how do you find the commander? Do you get along as well in the flesh as you did on paper?”

Zuko hesitated. Iroh had asked the question with such a teasing smile, and looked so serene amongst the comfortable effects of his bedroom. Surely he didn’t deserve any undue worry. But then again, Zuko had accepted his uncle’s invitation to relax with some tea not because he understood the appeal of hot leaf water, but because he needed to confide in someone. And there was nowhere he felt safer in the world than he did seated here, using that pillaged Earth Kingdom chest as a makeshift table.

“He’s arrogant,” Zuko eventually said. “And he has no respect for boundaries.”

Iroh’s brows knitted with worry. “What sort of boundaries does he disrespect?”

There were the obvious examples, the newest and least scandalous of which stood out in bright purple on Zuko’s collarbone, beneath his clothes. But the thought of discussing all of that with his uncle was mortifying, to say the least; it wasn’t that he was worried he’d get in trouble with Iroh so much as he just genuinely did not want to discuss sex with a family member. And so he fumbled for a way to communicate what had happened without actually divulging the details.

“Just… he stands too close to me. He takes up too much space. He won’t leave me alone, you know?”

That answer relaxed his uncle significantly more than the whole truth would have. “I imagine he enjoys being in the company of a pretty omega after being amongst other soldiers for so long. It’d be worse if he wanted nothing to do with you after all that, hm?”

“I guess.” Zuko chewed the inside of his cheek. His uncle’s observation was much more astute than he realized. Still. “I knew he was a little self-important from his letters, but it’s different face-to-face. He’s just so…” He waved his hand vaguely, dispersing the steam from his untouched cup of tea. “... _ There _ .”

Iroh chuckled into his own cup of tea, the sound bubbling out. “You’d better get used to that, Zuko. You’re going to be married. He’ll be  _ there _ most of the time.”

“Will he?” Zuko traced one of the geometric patterns on the chest, the gold paint flaking away to reveal the green base underneath. “He wants to be an admiral. When the wedding and… its aftermath are all wrapped up, I don’t think he’ll stick around for long.”

Iroh didn’t respond right away. He had given into the urge to deny and soothe Zuko’s worries before, and it had devolved into a small although vehement argument. He started to say something, but then stopped and shook his head. 

“What is it, Uncle?”

Iroh set his cup down. “Zuko, I don’t mean to make you anxious by asking you this so often. But I would be remiss if I neglected to ask when you needed it most. Are you  _ sure _ you’re alright with this marriage?”

Zuko was tired enough of this old line of questioning that his tone was dead, not angry. “It’s a little late to pull out now, if I wasn’t.”

Iroh shook his head. “That’s not necessarily what I mean. You are allowed to have doubts and anxieties, which-”

“Doubts and anxieties don’t serve me.”

“Right. But you can confide in me, if you need to.” Again, he seemed to be walking on the broken glass of previous arguments when he said, “I know that it is tradition for nobility to marry by political benefit more than for affection, but it’s alright to acknowledge that in asking you to marry Zhao, your father has asked a very difficult thing of you.”

Zuko shook his head, even as his heart clenched at Iroh’s words. “He’s asking a lot of me, but it’s not too much. I think I owe the parent that actually bothered to stick around.”

The mere reference to his mother banished the warmth from the room. 

“I’m sorry, Zuko. I hadn’t even thought of how Ursa’s absence would weigh over this occasion.”

“It’s fine,” he muttered. “She’s been gone so long at this point, why think of her at all?”

He hazarded a glance at his uncle and found a near-bottomless gaze fixed on his face, filled to the brim with sadness and sympathy. Looking at it made him want to cry.

Then something in that gaze shifted. “Have you put any thought towards the pre-wedding ceremonies? There are several that must be attended to by omega family members…”

Zuko shrugged. “I was going to ask the servants to perform them. It’s just brushing hair and putting on clothes, and they help me with that sort of thing already.”

The lines in Iroh’s face deepened. “That defeats the purpose. Those ceremonies are important traditions. They’re a means of bonding with family-”

“I don’t have another choice, though, do I?” Zuko snapped.

They sat in a chilly silence, not meeting one another’s eyes. Zuko felt angry with himself; he had come here to seek comfort, and yet again pushed his uncle’s attempts to sympathize away. It just aggravated him sometimes, when Iroh would get that watery look, and then try to put words in his mouth about how he felt. He seemed to think he had all the answers, but-

“What if I did them with you?” Iroh asked.

Zuko blinked. “The pre-wedding stuff? But you’re an alpha.”

Iroh chuckled. “I am secure enough in my masculinity that I can do something nice for my nephew on his wedding day.”

Zuko felt all the little annoyances fall away. It didn’t matter that he had been feeling testy and cold towards Iroh moments ago. Once again, his uncle was stepping up when he needed him most. This man probably loved him more than any other person in his life, least of all his own mother, and Zuko was overwhelmed by a potent mixture of guilt, loss, and gratitude. 

“Uncle, I…” Best to keep it simple, and avoid choking up. “Thank you.” 

That warm, serene smile, and a gentle pat on the hand. “Think nothing of it. I’ll just be glad to spend more time with you.”

* * *

Growing impatient with the Fire Lord’s repeated rebuffs, Zhao decided to take matters into his own hands. He was going to hang around the Great Hall until there was either an opening in Ozai’s schedule or they happened to cross paths. It lacked finesse, yes, but it was a straightforward plan.

A foolish part of Zhao had been hoping to arrive and immediately bump into Ozai, as he had on their fateful meeting at the awards ceremony two years ago, but Zhao was underestimating some of the hidden perks of being a Fire Lord. For one, you didn’t really have to rush around between meetings when you ruled the country; the meetings just came to  _ you _ . He saw a steady stream of important-looking generals and advisors and the like coming down the corridor, but Ozai didn’t step out of the throne room once. 

Quite a few servants eyed Zhao with suspicion, or stopped to ask him if he needed anything (the deferential way of asking, “Why are you here?”), but no one outright told him to leave, at least, so as far as he was concerned, he was free to continue his stubborn onslaught. And if there was any competition Zhao was sure to win, it was one of sheer obstinance.

It paid off. Eventually, Zhao heard that familiar strident voice, and followed it down a hall to a hidden back entrance of the throne room. Ozai was barking orders to some sallow advisor as he went, a beta, if scent were to be trusted from this distance. Zhao would happily interrupt any five star general of an alpha, and in fact had on numerous occasions, but it would be far easier to shoulder his way into a conversation Ozai was holding with some pipsqueak of lesser status. 

He caught up with the pair and matched their pace, not even waiting for a natural break in conversation to call out, “My most esteemed Fire Lord - what a happy coincidence to run into you here.”

The beta advisor scowled at him. “It’s hardly a coincidence, when you’ve been loitering outside the throne room for the better part of a morning.”

So word had reached them that he’d been hanging around, and he’d still been ignored. Zhao channeled his annoyance at the beta. “I believe my greeting was addressed to the Fire Lord. Do you speak for him?”

Before the beta could retort, Ozai said, “He does not.” His words came down like a gavel, and immediately any protests the beta had been ready to voice were brought to a halt. The beta pursed his lips, eyes bulging, but didn’t volunteer another word that wasn’t explicitly demanded by his lord.

Pleased not to be on the receiving end of that coldness, Zhao carried on. “I apologize for haranguing you with requests to meet, my highness, but you seem so busy. I figured I’d make an effort to fit more easily into the gaps of your schedule by making myself readily available.”

“A charitable interpretation. What do you want?” Ozai cast him a venomous look, but Zhao would not be shaken.

“Only to know how I can best serve you next. You see, my time with Admiral Chadeng has come to a close, and as for next steps, I’ve been thinking…”

“Next, you will be returning to Kirachu to ensure civil order, as was the entire reason for you getting engaged to my son,” said Ozai.

Zhao faltered. He knew that would be in the cards, eventually, but he’d been hoping he could delay it for as long as possible. It wouldn’t do to disagree with the Fire Lord, so he quickly switched tactics. “Of course, my lord. I’m more than happy to instill order in Kirachu as promised, but I’ve done a lot of thinking about our enemies while on the Mon Sai campaign, and I’d be failing my duties to the crown if I didn’t share with you some of the other plans I’ve devised.”

“Like what?”

“Like a revised plan of attack on the Northern Water Tribe.”

The beta advisor let out a bark of a laugh. “Are you out of your mind? An invasion of the Northern Water Tribe has been tried and failed twice in the last century.”

“Yes, but those were failures under Azulon’s reign,” Zhao said, baring his teeth in a grin. “In case you haven't noticed, this is the dawn of a new age, and our current Fire Lord has accomplished in just a few years much of what his father failed to over multiple decades.”

The beta rolled his eyes at Zhao’s declaration, but Ozai’s expression was harder to decipher, especially because he wasn’t saying much. 

When they made a sharp right down the hall, Zhao took the opportunity to trip the beta advisor, so that in his stumbling to keep balance, he fell behind the other two men. Zhao resisted the urge to look back at the advisor’s reaction, instead turning to address Ozai while he dominated his attention.

“I know it hasn’t been done before, but I’ve spent time in the Southern Tribe and I’ve done my fair share of research on the North. I  _ know _ what went wrong in those previous campaigns, and I can lay it all out for you whenever you have time.”

“Our resources are thin as it is,” Ozai said drily. “Is there a particular reason you’re so eager to claim the North Pole when we haven’t finished conquering the Earth Kingdom?”

“It’s the only continent where we haven’t laid a single claim.”

“Yes, but the Northern Water Tribe has remained neutral enough not to be a nuisance to us thus far. As it stands, there is no urgency to a northern invasion.”

“Even if that’s where the Avatar is currently heading?”

Ozai stopped walking and fixed Zhao with a withering stare. “Stories of the Avatar have surfaced on every corner of the globe for the better part of six months. Every municipality on earth, least of all our own nation, is in pursuit of this boy, and has failed to track him down. But you think  _ you’ve _ figured it all out?”

“Yes.” Zhao could feel the mocking smile coming from the beta, who had just caught up, but he refused to look at him, and he refused to balk in the face of Ozai’s skepticism. “I’m not trying to insult whatever men you have on this assignment, sir, but when you weed the fairy tales from the true accounts, it’s fairly obvious he is headed to the North Pole.”

“Why?”

“To look for a teacher. Where else would he go to learn to waterbend? We eliminated the last of the benders from the South Pole a decade ago, so that leaves only one option. If we want to stop him from becoming a serious threat to the crown, we need to eliminate the last of the master waterbenders, and that means acting upon the Northern Tribe as soon as possible.”

Ozai seemed ready to voice his dissent; almost panicking, Zhao grasped blindly at a closing argument. “My lord - this isn’t just about regular war strategy. This is about your  _ legacy _ . Imagine if your name became synonymous not  _ only _ with a successful invasion of the North, but with the defeat of the Avatar! You could finish the work your father started of eliminating the waterbenders  _ and  _ take out the last airbender that Sozin before  _ him _ failed to vanquish.”

There was a ten second span where he was unsure whether Ozai was preparing to verbally tear him limb from limb for insulting his father’s memory, or perhaps burn his face off for the sheer arrogance of addressing him in this manner. But in the end, it seemed Zhao’s focus on the Fire Lord’s ego was well-aimed.

Ozai said, “You would have to convince the war council that there is reason to refocus our efforts, lay out all the proof you have of the Avatar, his whereabouts, and his threat to order. And then detail the plan you have for securing the Northern Tribe.”

“Set a date, and I’ll do it,” Zhao responded. 

Ozai nodded. “Very well.” Then, to the beta advisor, “Find an opening in the war council’s schedule.” 

“Yes, my liege.” He didn’t look remotely happy about it. His misery only made Zhao’s victory all the sweeter.

* * *

The knock came loud and urgent, like a guard’s. But when Zuko opened his bedroom door, there was only Zhao, leaning into the doorframe so he couldn’t be shut out.

“How would you feel about dinner in the capital? My treat.”

Zuko searched his mind for a wedding superstition that would prevent this, and came up blank. “I already ate.”

Zhao shrugged. “Keep me company. Get a head start on the baiju.”

Alcohol and Zhao sounded like a terrible mix. The young prince was itching to be free of this conversation, to slide the door shut and savor the last night he’d have to himself, but he couldn’t very well slam the door on Zhao’s fingers, nor could he outright reject someone he was engaged to. His reply came out fittingly vague. “I don’t know…”

“Why? Afraid I’ll jump you in public?” Zhao placed a hand over his heart, faux-wounded. “Even  _ I _ have that much restraint.”

“I didn’t say that,” Zuko muttered, glancing around the hall for anyone that could overhear them.

“You didn’t have to.” Glib, not an ounce of offense to be heard. “If you’re afraid to be alone with me, we could always bring family along. I mean, we should probably introduce everyone before the actual wedding.”

There was a non-zero chance Zhao would act like a complete hyena-pig if they were alone together, but inviting family might provide the buffer Zuko needed. Maybe Zhao would be challenged to behave if his mother was sitting directly across the table from them. 

“Okay,” Zuko agreed. “A family dinner sounds like a good idea.” It was a foreign concept in their household, but surely not an impossible one to fulfill. 

Zhao was amenable, and didn’t ask for more than a quick, chaste kiss before they parted ways to wrangle their respective family members. (Dread and excitement leapt up his throat in tandem when Zhao leaned forward. And when his lips were immediately gone, those twin feelings became relief and disappointment. He was glad it was quick, but why didn’t Zhao turn around and give him one last look before running off?)

Iroh loved the idea of a family dinner, of course, but once his attendance was secured, an awkward silence prevailed. There were two more loose ends to tie, and each came with its own host of problems.

“I suppose we should send a messenger to Father to tell him about the dinner,” Zuko said.

“Let me do it,” Iroh insisted. “It’s your wedding. You shouldn’t have to worry about little details right now.”

Perhaps it was because the nerves gathering in his stomach clenched so painfully he could barely think, but Zuko relented. Iroh had a delicate touch. If the response they received wasn’t one they wanted, well. He would be kind about it.

But that left the other matter. Avoiding Zuko’s eyes, Iroh continued, “If I’m sending a messenger to the Great Hall, anyway, I supposed I might as well let your sister know about our plans.”

Zuko groaned. “Do we have to?”

“We should at least extend the invitation.” 

“But will she behave?”

Iroh gave a wounded look, as if they were not discussing a girl who had psychologically tortured a palace aid into resigning just because he once accidentally stepped on her foot. “She came all this way for your wedding! She’s missed you so much and is eager to spend time with you.”

Zuko could barely resist rolling his eyes. “Did she say that, or are you saying that for her?”

Iroh gave a sneaky smile. “I admit, I’m making a few assumptions on her behalf. At the risk of sounding like a proselytizing old man, these are the sorts of life events you will look back on when you’re my age and be glad that you shared them together.”

That was all well and good, but Zuko and Azula still hadn’t spoken a word to one another since she had arrived home. It was strange how thoroughly their lives had diverged as they had gotten older. It wasn’t that they used to be the best of friends, but they’d at least been in constant proximity up until their statuses had been named. And then Zuko had presented, and Azula had moved to the Great Hall, and before he realized what was changing, Zuko found that he couldn’t remember the last thing they’d even said to each other. It would’ve been months ago.

“Fine,” Zuko muttered. “But she  _ cannot _ disrespect these people. I want to make a good first impression.”

* * *

Meanwhile, Zhao had returned to his family’s autumn home in the city proper. Of course the first question they asked was why they couldn’t dine in the royal palace (it wasn’t that they couldn’t - Zhao was just itching to go out), followed by demands as to whether the Fire Lord would be meeting them.

“Don’t count on it,” said Zhao. After all that Ozai had dodged him for the past week, it was victory enough to have finally secured a brief audience. He put little faith in the Fire Lord making an appearance at dinner. He watched Wei for a reaction, but his older brother remained resolute.

“He’s the most important man in the country,” Wei said. “I imagine he has more urgent matters to attend to.”

On the opposite side of the room, Yan gnashed his teeth, arms petulantly crossed. “We’re not dining in the palace, we’re not seeing the Fire Lord - what’s the point? We’re not even in the royal family yet, and we’re already being treated like some unworthy branch family. Ama is tired enough as it is-”

“We’ll come,” Ama interjected. He’d been leaning at a painful-looking angle on the sette, but now rose to stand, his posture so impeccable that someone who didn’t know him would have no idea of the effort it took him to do so. 

Yan blinked. “But-”

Ama cast him a sharp look. “General Iroh and Princess Azula will expect us to have bearing deserving of royalty. We will all attend, and we will  _ not _ disappoint them.”

As was usually the case when Ama chided him, Yan’s mouth snapped shut, and he didn’t voice his dissent again. This was what Zhao had been hoping for; that his parent’s sense of propriety would outweigh his malaise, and drive the rest of the family forward.

He wasn’t particularly bothered that Zuko had refused a dinner alone in favor of a family affair. Now that Zhao had managed to get a taste of what he was committing to, he was satisfied to wait before indulging himself again. He had plenty to look forward to, given the tradition of scheduling a wedding on the eve of an omega’s heat. 

Agni, Zhao had not seen an omega in heat in literal years. Not that he’d been celibate in that time, but getting to fuck an omega during their heat generally required a degree of trust and commitment, and he hadn’t pursued any terribly serious relationships before Zuko. (Had Kahno been the last? That’d have to be over five years ago, by now.) In any case, he was quite eager to see if he could get Zuko to drop all the prim denial and initiate things at least once. Maybe he’d even  _ beg _ . What a sweet sight that would make.

* * *

When Iroh met him in the hall, Zuko cast him a hopeful look. But his uncle only shook his head. “Security concerns,” he said, by way of explanation. Who knew if that excuse came from the throne itself or was just a courtesy from Iroh? Zuko was too afraid of the answer to ask and just nodded in understanding.

They would have left it at that, but Azula was waiting for them in the carriage, and her first words as they stepped inside were, “A shame Father couldn’t come! I suppose it just wasn’t important enough to meet the family of his only son’s fiancé.”

“Ozai is already familiar with them,” Iroh said. “Zhao’s older brother used to be a dear friend of his when they were teenagers.”

She must not have known, to have made the comment in the first place. But she remained unfazed. “Surely not  _ that _ dear, if he’s not making the effort to come along.”

“Your father deeply regrets he must be absent, but being the Fire Lord comes with urgent responsibilities.”

“Yes, yes, I’m well aware,” Azula breezed, barely looking at her uncle. She now cast a critical eye on Zuko, as if scanning for cracks she could wedge a knife into. 

Zuko allowed himself to slot on what Mai called his “polite and empty” smile. “Azula.”

“Zuzu. You’re looking surprisingly slim, for your uneventful lifestyle. Is Uncle walking you every day?”

“As a matter of fact, he is,” Zuko responded, silkily brushing aside the twinge of irritation. “You’re looking fairly small yourself, but someone has to be the exception to all those rules about alphas and size.”

“Hey, nothing wrong with being on the short side,” Iroh nervously chuckled. Out of the corner of his eye, Zuko could see his uncle looking frantically between himself and Azula, as one might when introducing hostile house cats. The carriage compartment was small. If the siblings fought, it would become all the more claustrophobic.

“Uncle’s right,” said Azula. “Size isn’t all that. What matters is that an alpha has strength and power in kind. Speaking of, are you still allowed to use your firebending to warm your tea, at least, or have you been completely neutered?”

Apparently some things were still sacred; Iroh hadn’t confided in Azula about their late night lessons. “I’m not neutered. I just have obligations that don’t call for the same skill set yours do.”

“Right,” said Azula. “I suppose there’s little point in rendering a porcelain doll into a weapon.”

Zuko kept the same, tense smile equipped. The temperature of the compartment flared up about five degrees. 

As he was wont to do when deeply uncomfortable, Iroh changed the subject. Apparently the restaurant Zhao had chosen was quite exclusive, to the point that nobility in Caldera had been fighting for reservations for the past month. Iroh had been meaning to go for some time. He’d heard the wolf shark fin soup was absolutely to die for. His niece and nephew responded to his niceties with single syllables, managing to remain composed until they arrived at their destination.

They convened just outside the establishment, valets creating a wide berth between those nobility waiting in line for a chance at a seat and the arriving royalty, who were, of course, given priority and ushered quickly inside. Zuko only vaguely noticed the excited whispers and furtive glances exchanged amongst onlookers, keeping an eye out for Zhao.

His family had beat them there. When Zuko’s party approached the table, the nobility of Kirachu stood in greeting, and Zuko got a good look at each as they introduced themselves. Wei, who he remembered as the oldest brother and his father’s former friend, was tall and thin, with sharp features. He wore his hair back into an unostentatious phoenix tail, and had a pair of rounded spectacles fixed onto the end of his nose. He barely looked related to Zhao. The youngest brother Yan, on the other hand, looked almost  _ exactly _ like Zhao, except for the fact he was a head shorter, several inches wider, and did not take very good care of his facial hair. When he stood, he leaned heavily on his chair; Zuko noticed that he seemed to favor his left leg over the other.

Then there was their mother, the male omega, Ama. He held himself with such gravity that he seemed much taller than he actually was; in approaching him to exchange bows, Zuko was quite surprised to find that they were close in height. He thought he could see the source of Wei’s more severe features in this man, who seemed terribly delicate, if not for the suspicious and guarded look in his dark eyes. 

And there on his neck, so prominent Zuko could barely help but stare: a mating mark. He had seen his own mother’s, of course, but she’d preferred clothes with high collars, and so kept it covered much of the time. His teacher Aloki had been unmated. And so, except when council members brought their mates to the palace, Zuko had seen few adult omegas with marks. He had certainly never seen one like  _ this _ . You could count the teeth in the bite, each one leaving a whitish, sunken scar. Bizarrely, it reminded him of the burn scars he’d seen on novice firebenders, twisting up their hands and mottling the flesh. He wondered how long it had taken for the pain to subside. If it still occasionally hurt.

Zhao and Zuko were placed next to each other, of course. As fine a dining establishment as this was, their party was large, and so seating was still a bit cramped, forcing them rather close together. Almost the moment they were settled in, there was a hand on Zuko’s thigh, not at all obvious under the table, but still definitely too high up his leg for him to be comfortable with any of their family members seeing if they happened to stand and walk past. Without drawing attention, Zuko snuck his own hand down to try to nudge it away, but Zhao only squeezed and then held firm. 

Iroh, of course, was on his best behavior; he immediately went to work ingratiating himself, recalling bits of trivia about Zhao’s family. Did they still grow Eucalyptus and ash bananas on the Kirachu estate? And did they still have the drawing room with that splendid tiger-monkey painted on the doors? He seemed to remember the little ones being afraid to approach it - was that Yan, or Zhao himself?

“Forgive me, but I don’t recall you ever having been to the estate,” said Zhao, perhaps sweating over the fact that, just a few days before, he’d introduced himself to the man as if they’d never met.

“Oh, no, I’ve never been,” Iroh clarified. “I just remember because Ozai would talk so fondly of you all…”

“That’s funny,” Azula chirped. “He’s never said a word to me about any of you. I really had no idea of the connection until Uncle told me on the ride over.” 

She had intended to rattle them, of course, but this observation was met unfazed. “That’s fair,” Wei said, smoothly. “Ozai and I haven’t talked since we were boys. I imagine the Fire Lord has much more interesting stories to tell his children than a few teenaged antics.”

In fact, Ozai had never entertained his children with any sentimental stories of his past, as far as Zuko was concerned. It was somewhat impossible to imagine Ozai as a teenager, having friends, getting into trouble, worrying over the sort of things normal teenagers worried about.

“He’s told me plenty,” Azula claimed. “Why wouldn’t he have mentioned you? Did something  _ happen? _ ”

“We simply outgrew our friendship.”

“Or  _ he _ outgrew  _ you _ .”

Not even a flash of irritation in Wei’s dark eyes. Zuko wasn't sure if he found that impressive or just sad. Surely their relationship had been precious, once; noting Wei’s beta scentlessness, Zuko found himself imagining his father being put in the same predicament he’d put Azula, namely, the task of abandoning friendships with those of a different status. Even the bonds of nobility couldn’t shake those separations of sex. 

It was Zhao who shifted the conversation away. “It doesn’t matter that there was a falling out, or  _ who _ fumbled their friendship with the Fire Lord back then. What’s important is that we’re all together, now. It may be the result of a less-than-savory political climate, but I for one am glad our families have been reunited.” And the hand on Zuko’s thigh now gripped his hand instead. It was a considerable improvement. Zuko let their fingers lace together, figuring this was a far more innocent embrace to be caught in, even if it did still rest on his upper-thigh.

“Here, here,” Iroh agreed, lifting his glass, doing his part to help the atmosphere ease up. Azula rolled her eyes, but refrained from digging the knife any further into this particular wound.

Being royalty was enough to grant their table prestige, but given that everyone in Caldera’s upper class was aware of the impending nuptials, they took on an especially celebrity status for the night. Honored by their attendance, the restaurant’s owner ordered the kitchen to prepare a sumptuous feast, a sample of everything on the menu. As was customary, when the first course arrived, plates were passed to and fro across the table, everyone taking part and sharing from the many options laid before them. Steaming racks of ribs, spicy delicacies, the most heavenly stew they’d ever laid eyes on, and more and more stretching out before them. While they were eating, Zhao’s hand disentangled from Zuko’s, although they still continually bumped elbows. Zhao’s “playful” smiles during these incidents seemed more smug. If Zuko elbowed him back, it wasn’t flirtatious. Merely to stand his ground. 

When the carafes had been passed around the table and everyone’s glasses filled, Zhao put up a hand and cleared his throat. Quickly, the murmurs quieted down, and he succeeded in capturing the attention not just of their immediate table, but some others nearby. “Before the baiju disappears, I would like to raise a toast. To Zuko.”

The mortification of looking at Zhao headlong was almost too much to bear, but the other option was worse: looking anywhere else, Zuko would be confronted with the fact that everyone’s eyes, not just at this table, but maybe in this  _ restaurant _ , were fixed on his face. In a soft voice, hand on Zhao’s thigh, he murmured, “Zhao, please,” but his fiancé only responded with a grin, and an admonishment spoken a few notches higher than Zuko’s plea, so the rest of the table could actually hear it: “C’mon - let me say something nice.”

To Zuko’s further horror, Zhao didn’t just raise a glass; he stood up. There didn’t seem to be an ounce of shame in him, his posture straightening organically under the limelight. Zuko thought he heard Azula snicker and felt his insides shrivel up with embarrassment.

“First of all, I’d like to just address the camelephant in the room - which is that I am  _ obviously _ the lucky one in this couple.” Pause for polite chuckles. “Zuko is a prince, the oldest child of our most esteemed Fire Lord. And he is… I mean, you all have eyes. He looks like  _ that _ .” Zhao gestured to his face, and Zuko, more sure than ever that all eyes were on him, chewed a hole in his cheek and refused to look anywhere but his fiancé’s face.

“And I’m bluffing, a bit, with the uniform and all, trying to look the part, but I clearly don’t deserve him,” Zhao laughed. “But he agreed to marry me, anyway. Now it’s up to me to make sure he never regrets that decision. In fact…” 

Zhao had been looking into the sea of faces, but was addressing Zuko directly, now. As they locked eyes, the nervous thrum fell away, leaving only a tense stillness, and Zuko watched the other man’s expression transform from lighthearted to deeply sincere. 

“My promise to you is to work every day, for the rest of our lives, to be worthy of the trust that you’ve placed in me. It’s my responsibility to ensure that you never regret, even for a moment, allowing me the great privilege of being a part of your life.” Then he raised his glass a little higher. “To Prince Zuko.”

“To Prince Zuko!” chimed in a rapture of voices, reminding the young prince once again that he and his fiancé were not at all alone. Glasses clinked, a hand touched his shoulder, and the restaurant returned to the normal hustle and bustle of the dinner rush. There was the obligatory gush from members of their table - genuine, from Iroh and Ama, and deeply sarcastic, from Azula - as people praised Zhao for his public display of devotion. 

His words left Zuko feeling shaken. Not just from the spectacle of it all - his family didn’t really do public declarations of… whatever that was. Public declarations of war, sure, public condemnations, but when it came to free and direct communication of affection, Zuko had experienced very little outside the realm of fiction. Even Iroh, for all his loving and affectionate demeanor, had a love language that favored actions and sentiments over pointed flattery.

When at last Zuko had caught his fiancé’s attention again, his lips couldn’t make sense of his racing thoughts. After a moment or two of mouthing impossibilities, he settled on, “Thank you. That was nice.” Zhao, perhaps out of pretty words himself, didn’t say anything more; just winked, and squeezed his hand.

The faster the wine and baiju flowed, the looser the conversation became, and the less it seemed they were all trying to impress one another (with the exception of Azula, who had never been trying). Somehow, they had ended up in a conversation about the treatment of omegas in the Fire Nation, which made Zuko exceedingly uncomfortable. He hated being discussed like a hypothetical, but he also did not want anyone to ask his opinion. He wasn’t exactly thrilled with how things were for omegas, yet knew that if he dared breathe a word of discontent, it could get back to Ozai, and he’d be told what an ungrateful waste of breath he was.

Luckily for him, Ama was feeling vocal, and had taken the position as voice for all omegas. “Stop it,” he said to Yan, who was getting increasingly heated. “You make it sound like the Fire Nation is some despotic wasteland!”

“I am not,” Yan insisted. “I’m just saying, don’t you think that what’s allowed of omegas here is at least a  _ little _ narrow? You can’t own land, you can’t have a bank account, you can’t enlist-”

“I don’t want those things,” Ama sniffed. “That’s why I had sons to take care of me. The Fire Nation is not some backwards country. We’re allowed to firebend, here. It’s not illegal for us to be educated. Did you know that in the water tribe they  _ collar _ omegas? Like animals! It’s sick. Would you rather I be treated like in the South Pole, hm?”

“Actually,” said Zhao, “that’s a misconception. The northern tribe forbids bending and does the - well, not collars. They’re betrothal necklaces. In the south, though, they tend to treat omegas as equals in almost everything.”

Zuko cocked his head. “Really? I’ve never heard of anything like that before.”

“It’s not as good as it sounds,” Zhao amended. “Egalitarianism comes with its own pitfalls - there are no protections for omegas, for one, and the tribe’s fighting regiments would become easily disorganized due to heats. They kept insisting on this fairy-tale illusion of equality, and as a result, they fell quite easily to a bigger and better aggressor moving in on their territory.”

“If you say so,” Zuko mumbled. Leave it to those seated at the top of the hierarchy to insist to those crushed at the bottom why it shouldn’t be knocked down. Still, it wasn’t like Zuko had stepped foot outside the Fire Nation. Maybe it was just as Zhao had said. “You seem to be quite the expert on the South Pole.”

Across the table, Wei’s lips curled into a not-so-friendly smile. “Zhao has always had a soft spot for the water tribe.”

“When you travel the world, you tend to learn about the places you go,” Zhao breezed. “One of the many benefits of enlisting.”

Zuko snuck a glance at his uncle, and was surprised to see that since they’d changed the topic, his expression had become almost stricken. Was he just uncomfortable with how openly Zhao’s family argued, or had the food upset his stomach? He caught Zuko watching, and made an effort to reassure his nephew with a smile. But the corners were weak.

“A soft spot? How interesting.” Azula leaned forward, head in her hands, elbows on the table. “Would you say when you travel, you often develop an affinity for weaker nations?”

“There’s no soft spot,” Zhao insisted, waving his hand, chopsticks and all. “I’m just stating the facts of what I learned abroad. Never hurts to get to know your enemy in order to gain a tactical advantage. Certainly on your forays into the Earth Kingdom you’ve become more accustomed to their way of life?”

Azula seemed to concede the point, for now; for all her worse qualities, Zuko could never accuse her of rushing headlong into a situation without thinking. She liked to sit back and gather what information she could. Identify weak points. He watched her gaze trace over the other guests at the table and worried she was doing just that now.

Yan wasn’t happy to let the discussion of omegas die. “C’mon, guys. Just because it’s worse in other countries, we can’t ignore what’s happening here.” He seemed to address both prince and princess when he said, “You know, over the last few years, your father has made some alarming changes. All those restrictions around heat suppressants and scent-blockers-”

“Yan,” said Zhao, “knock it off.”

“My, didn’t expect to hear an anti-imperial slant tonight,” Azula drawled. “You’d think you’d clean things up on Kirachu before taking ideological potshots at my father. At least he knows how to maintain order.”

Wei spoke up. “Actually, Princess Azula, we are as alarmed by the growing dissent in Kirachu as you are. I don’t wish to speak ill of Darah, but things operated much more efficiently when our father was governor.” Wei punctuated this by snatching up a piece of meat Yan had been reaching for.

“Dear old Dad,” Zhao laughed. “If he saw the state of the island, he’d probably burn Darah alive.”

“Or us,” Yan muttered, giving up the battle for the last dregs of meat to shove vegetables around his plate. “He’d find some way to blame us for Darah’s fuck up, like we  _ let _ him ruin Kirachu, or something.”

“Hush.” Ama swatted his son on the arm. “Your father was a wonderful man.”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t. Just that he had a temper.”

Ama huffed. “He did not. Your father  _ hated _ punishing you boys.”

That earned a round of groans and eye rolls from each of his sons. “Please,” Zhao scoffed. “Off the top of my head, I can think of four examples where he smacked me in the face just for speaking up around company.”

“I didn’t say he  _ wouldn’t _ punish you,” Ama clarified. “Just that he didn’t like to do it. But he would, when he had to. You boys were all very difficult to raise.” He seemed to catch Iroh’s eye, and was about to ask what he thought of it all, as a parent himself. Then he remembered. And stopped short.

Iroh cleared his throat. “...I was never fond of physical punishment. My late wife spanked our son once or twice when he was still in the tantrum phase, but I never had the heart.”

Zhao shrugged, eyes on his plate, not avoiding anyone’s gaze so much as he was growing disinterested in the conversation. “It’s not a big deal. Just normal fatherly duties, right?” He looked at Zuko, who, after a beat, nodded. He had always appreciated his uncle’s gentle touch, but he had to agree. Surely avoiding physical punishment altogether ran the risk of a child never learning right from wrong, or worse, being too sensitive to cope with life’s challenges.

He felt almost grateful, to hear Zhao affirm the mundanity of it. Zuko looked around the table and saw all the different personalities and types. They may be separated by status and rank, but when it came down to it, their similarities outweighed their differences. They were ordinary Fire Nation families.

* * *

Everyone needed to be well-rested for the ceremony tomorrow, so gradually the night wound down. The lavish dinner was devoured and cleared from the table, Zhao and Iroh had the obligatory tug of war over the check, and the families made their exit from the restaurant. There was a brief period, only minutes, where Iroh and Azula found themselves alone in their carriage, waiting for the young couple to join them so they could return to the palace.

“So,” said Azula. “How do you like the commander, Uncle?”

“He said some very nice things about your brother.”

She smiled and crossed her arms. “That’s funny. I thought it all sounded like bullshit. Like he was more endeared with what he was saying and the attention it got him than he was with poor Zuzu.”

Iroh was not one to be goaded into mean-spirited gossip, especially not about people standing just outside the nearest door. “It’s an arranged marriage. There’s going to be some phoniness until they get used to one another, but hopefully with time those feelings will become genuine.” And mutual.

“But you agree he’s phony.”

Iroh sighed. “Yes, Azula. But if you ever repeat that to Zuko, I will deny it.”

“I don’t see why,” she scoffed. “He might be relieved to get a little dose of reality from  _ you _ . It’s not like he ever takes  _ my _ advice seriously.”

Still, when Zhao and Zuko eventually joined them, she kept her opinion to herself, and didn’t try to put Iroh on the spot, either. All in due time, he supposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Where else would he go to learn to waterbend?"
> 
> Cut to Aang in the Foggy Swamp bending vines like nobody's business (I kid.... or do I?)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding commences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like if i were being super honest, in addition to no dancing, this wedding would also have no alcohol... but i simply refuse to be that cruel. i know the fire nation is a fascist military state that hates fun, but like. no alcohol? at a wedding?? if zuko can't pick his own husband, at least let the him get drunk with his friends at his own wedding. god knows he needs some respite before this insane little tragedy kicks into high gear

The day had finally come. The palace was frantic with arrangements, and the emerald room had been cleared out so Zuko could get ready without having to run across the palace grounds, since the ceremony would take place in the pavilion just outside the Great Hall. 

“The lighting in here is sickly,” Iroh complained, referring to the green glow that the walls left on their skin. “Let’s get some sunlight!”

He threw open the shutters, and trickles of golden light streamed through and warmed the room instantly. Outside, they could see a few more banners being raised, and the beginnings of a noble crowd streaming towards the pavilion. For the most part, the decoration was minimalist and austere, but one could hardly expect more from a country that had outlawed frivolities like dance. Or so Iroh had been sulking; Zuko for one was glad he wouldn’t have to stumble his way through a dance with Zhao. Just getting married with this crowd watching would be mortifying enough.

The pre-wedding traditions began with a hair-combing ceremony. They lit a pair of candles, one with a dragon twisting up the side, and the other with a phoenix. Next, they said thanks to their ancestors for the blessing of life, and asked that this marriage become a precious and long-lasting facet of that life. (As a child, Zuko had found prayers had such a droning quality, made insincere by how mindlessly they could be recited; now, saying the words with his uncle and trading little self-conscious smiles, they took on an affectionate warmth.) Then came the task itself. As Iroh worked a silver brush through a section of Zuko’s hair, he continued to lament. 

“It’s just absurd - a wedding shouldn’t be as solemn as a funeral. Thank goodness I convinced the palace event planner of the necessity of a band, or you’d be stuck with the most boring reception this palace has ever seen. They’ll be tempted to play an imperial march, no doubt, but I slipped them the sheet music for a folk ballad you loved when you were little...”

“I know you don’t like the ban, but royalty is supposed to set an example,” Zuko said to his uncle’s reflection in the vanity mirror. “We should remain composed so the citizens feel they’re in stable hands.”

Iroh huffed. “The people won’t revolt because of a little singing and dancing. Your father refused to have any fun at his own ceremony, but when my late wife and I got married, there was music. We had a brass band with no less than  _ four _ tsunghi horns.”

They finished by securing the topknot with red string. Although Iroh had fumbled a bit with the sheer amount of hair his nephew had to work with, this ended up being the easiest tradition to complete. Next, he had to help Zuko get dressed. They had practiced the previous day with one of the servants, a very young boy with quick hands who knew his way around an obi. After much guidance from Zuko, they’d gotten the layers of the robe on correctly, but Iroh was struggling to tie it closed.

“How do I give it that boxy look? I just watched him do it…” Iroh muttered.

Zuko looked over his shoulder. “Should we call someone?”

“No, no, this is our bonding time. I’ve got it.”

He did not, in fact, got it. The back of Zuko’s robe sagged and fell open. The fabric around his waist was bunched up tightly in his hands so it couldn’t slide any further down.

“I don’t think bringing in one servant will ruin our alone time.” A pause. “Uncle, I believe in you, but if you don’t get this right, I could end up naked in front of the entire court. One wrong step on loose fabric, one strong breeze…”

“...Maybe I  _ should _ call someone,” Iroh relented. “Wait here.”

Zuko watched his uncle’s reflection retreat out the door with a smile. But the moment the door was closed, he realized how important Iroh’s naturally soothing aura was today. Without it, thoughts of the impending wedding crept into his mind and tied his stomach into much tighter knots than Iroh could manage on his obi.

He couldn’t really move without disturbing his clothes and losing their progress, so he remained in the same spot, the sunlight from the open window warming his half-naked back. He stared at his reflection; his skin still had an eerie tint from the walls that made him look waxen and corpselike. The neck of his robe sagged a little over his collarbone, revealing the last blue vestiges of the hickey Zhao had given him the other night. He’d forgotten all about it until he was getting dressed, and his uncle asked what it was. Zuko had hurriedly insisted it was a mosquito gnat bite. It looked nothing like one, but Iroh had graciously accepted this cover story without comment, instead electing to change the subject. 

Zuko was pulled out of this embarrassing memory by the sound of the door opening. He started, “That was fast,” but the words died on his tongue when he saw the sheer height of the figure filling the doorway, the newly familiar smirk. Zhao shut the door behind him, and Zuko watched his own face in the vanity as it transformed from an easy, comfortable smile to a look of clear distress. 

They locked eyes in the vanity, each man observing a mirror image of his fiancé. Then Zhao approached. As Zuko schooled his expression, he found himself nitpicking the details in a way he wouldn’t if he couldn’t see them; that eyebrow was too sharp, that eye too glassy. Make it regal - no, too cold. Make it open - no, too vulnerable. Make it warm and desirable and aloof and and and.

He watched Zhao’s eyes linger over his naked back. “What have we here?”

“Uncle was helping me get dressed. He’ll be back any minute.”

“Then I’ll be quick.” Zhao stepped in close, hovering just over his shoulder. He ignored the call of his own reflection, eyes only for the expanse of Zuko’s skin, a startling focus in his gaze, like he might lean in at any moment and meet bare flesh with lips or teeth.

The tug of a hand on his robe, pulling it  _ closed _ , snapped Zuko out of whatever trance he was in. He took a shuddering breath as Zhao adjusted his clothes.

“I wanted to apologize for how Yan behaved last night. I’m sure he said some things that made you uncomfortable.”

Zuko melted as he only could under the warmth of an apology. “Thank you, but it’s alright.”

“It’s not,” said Zhao. “He shouldn’t be speaking out against the Fire Lord, regardless of our marriage. I’ve dealt with the issue, though, so we shouldn’t be hearing anymore anti-crown garbage. Not that I really think he  _ meant _ what he said so much as he wanted to embarrass me in front of you - you know how younger siblings can be.”

Zuko let out a quick breath of a laugh. “I do. Which, you’ve reminded me that I wanted to apologize for Azula.”

“The princess was merely performing her due diligence as your sister, sussing out your fiancé’s family. It was very loving of her.” There was a touch of sarcasm to Zhao’s tone.

Zuko scoffed. “Please.”

“No, I’m serious. I especially enjoyed when she implied the nobility of Kirachu are all in-bred.”

“Really, I’m so sorry. There’s no stopping her when she goes on a rampage.”

“It’s fine. You can make it up to me later.”

The obi drew taught with a light  _ snap _ . Zhao slipped his hands around Zuko’s waist to wrap another layer of the sash, and the brush of his hand against Zuko’s stomach, even through the heavy layers of silk, made his heart stutter in his chest.

Dizzy from their physical proximity, Zuko blurted, “You didn’t come to my room last night.”

That self-important smirk appeared over his shoulder in the mirror. “Missed me?”

“I was just - surprised. Considering the night before.”

The obi tightened again. It was like having the air snatched from his lungs, but not violently; more like a sharp, involuntary intake, as with a gasp.

“Sorry if you waited up for me, but it’s just like you said - we had to be patient a little longer. I thought if I stopped by even just to say goodnight, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.” Punctuated by a lecherous smirk.

Scarlet rushed across Zuko’s face. His tone sharpened to compensate, but his words had little bite. “Impulse control  _ is _ a virtue…”

Zhao’s mouth was close enough to his ear so that when he chuckled, throaty and low, Zuko could feel the heat of it. “I’m not going to apologize for wanting you. Even just a few hours of waiting seems insurmountable when I’m this close to you.”

The hand at Zuko’s back was, by virtue of its grip on his obi, holding him firmly in place. Maybe it was the constriction of his airways leaving him feeling light-headed - or maybe it was the fact Zhao had him tied and bound the morning before he was going into heat. He couldn’t deny the effect Zhao’s presence had on him now, the physical warmth of him, the authority of his grip, and when Zuko gave into his nerves and swallowed, he saw how obvious it looked in the mirror, saw Zhao notice, saw Zhao’s eyes linger on his throat as if deciding.

A broad hand came up to wrap itself around his neck, a collar of flesh and bone. Zuko tore his eyes away from the mirror to look up at Zhao instead, at that gaze that was wholly for him. The hand on his throat tilted him just so, the hand on his back held firm, and as their lips touched, Zuko faintly noted how right it felt to be held in place by these hands.

Teeth caught on his lower lip. He opened his mouth, obediently, and Zhao licked inside. The hand on his back twisted, fabric bunching and constricting under its grip, forcing Zuko to stand  _ just so _ in order to keep air coming into his lungs, back no doubt curved enticingly. He was certain he was wet enough that if Zhao entered him, right now, he’d meet with little to no resistance.

The door clattered open. They broke apart, startled, just in time to see Iroh and the servant he had fetched in the mirror, their reactions. The servant boy throttled his surprise, but Iroh’s brow furrowed in disapproval. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Sorry,” Zhao laughed. “Just thought I’d stop in for a quick hello.”

His tone was friendly, placating, but Iroh’s expression remained hard. “You should leave. We need to get ready, and per tradition, this space is not to be encroached on by alphas outside the immediate family.”

Zhao seemed ready to retort, the heat of his response rearing up like a wave. As if to physically stave it, Zuko reached out and grabbed his fiancé by the arm. “It’s alright, Zhao. We’ll be together again in a few hours. It was nice to see you.”

It was almost as if he could feel the aggression behind Zhao’s impending reaction vanish. He gave Zuko one last, soft smile, touched the hand on his arm, and said, “Right. I suppose I’ll have you all to myself soon, anyway. I’ll take my leave.”

As soon as he was gone (really, mere moments after the door had shut behind him), Iroh muttered, “I presume these are the boundaries you said he struggles with.”

Zuko didn’t have the energy to defend Zhao’s actions to his uncle; doing so would mean admitting he’d wanted it, acknowledging that that licentious display had been completely intentional, even knowing it would be moments before someone caught them. Instead he raked a hand over his face so he wouldn’t have to look at his uncle’s disapproval anymore and said, “I can’t believe you saw that.”

“It’s fine, Zuko. I remember being eighteen.” Iroh sighed, gaze on the window, the act of eye contact undoubtedly just as mortifying to him as it now seemed to Zuko. “I should be relieved that the two of you seem to like each other so much.”

There were hands at Zuko’s obi, more ginger than Zhao’s had been. Zuko peaked out from between his fingers, watching in the mirror as the servant boy’s expression went puzzled. He said something that was incomprehensible upon first listen.

“What was that?” Iroh asked, approaching to see what had confused the boy so.

“I said, it’s a clove hitch.” The servant pointed at Zuko’s back. “A fairly common sailing knot. Quite a good one! I feel a little bad taking it apart, but it’s not the traditional way to tie an obi.”

* * *

When asked to recall the event later, Zuko would lose the larger details of what they said and did, instead excavating random vivid minutiae: How dry Zhao’s hands were. The mole on the officiator’s lip. A bright blue bird that landed on a pillar in the distance. 

Practiced paths are rarely encoded in memory; little room is left in our hearts for orders we execute without thinking. But he would remember, at least, the moment of panic. The fact he was getting married hadn’t left much of an impression, until suddenly it did. He’d traced the steps he’d practiced, been reciting the words he’d been told to in measured tones, when suddenly his gaze on Zhao’s face sharpened. Who was this man, really? The shape of his jaw seemed warped and unfamiliar. And this space. Why was he standing here? He caught a reflection of himself in Zhao’s gaze and thought,  _ This is not right, this is not where I’m supposed to be, this is not who I am supposed to be,  _ and for a moment felt as though he’d been transplanted from an entirely different world. The stuffy fabric binding the disparate parts of his body together, the too-soft skin, even his  _ face _ , smooth as exposed bone, wide-eyed and hopeful, this was not his face, this was not his life,  _ What on earth was he doing here? _

And then just as quickly as it had come, it had disappeared under the thought of,  _ Everyone gets cold feet _ .  _ This is normal. _ Just like that, each unique, frightened pearl was reduced to a pebble. A grain of sand in a desert. Forgettable.

All in all, it was a forgettable affair, if also a beautiful one. Everything went as planned. And when Zuko looked out into the sea of familiar faces and there were no surprises, he wasn’t the least bit disappointed. It was childish to hope she would show up in the first place.

* * *

Azula had not even seen her uncle cry like this the week he’d come home from Ba Sing Se. It was fascinating, to an extent. Fat tears were streaming down his face, and he had to bite his lip to stifle a no-doubt noisy torrent of sobs. She was grateful her father had chosen to watch the wedding from afar, in the silence of the palanquin, surrounded by guards; if he were sitting here with them, he’d no doubt have some spiteful words for his brother.

The sight of Iroh’s tears didn’t reach into any deep place inside Azula and prompt her to cry with him, because that would be stupid and weak. But she did want him to stop, and it was maybe mostly because she hated to see him sad, rather than just the embarrassment of it all.

So she comforted him as best as she could, voice dripping with only half the usual reproach. “Uncle. Compose yourself. We’re not at a funeral.”

He sniffed, the sound wet and repulsive. “People do cry at weddings, Azula. They’re happy occasions.” On the word “happy,” his voice broke, and he lifted an arm to scrub at his face.

She sighed. “Right. Because you’ve been  _ so _ thrilled with this pairing to begin with.”

A hand laid gently over hers. Iroh was still crying, more into his sleeve than anything; he probably couldn’t form any more words, so this was him asking her to hush. And after one last, furtive little scoff, she did, turning her attention to what her uncle couldn’t bear to watch. 

Zuko had never been terribly tall, but he seemed especially diminutive next to his new spouse, who towered with both literal height and that self-obsessed alpha swagger that always added a few imaginary inches. There was the faintest of smiles on her brother’s face when he tilted his head back to kiss Zhao. It was too far away to see his eyes and tell for sure, but Azula could just picture which smile he wore, undoubtedly the same one he donned every time she teased him or their father was in the room, the one they’d seen their mother don every day like an ill-fitting article of clothing. An empty and placating smile. Those eyes so heartbreakingly pretty you didn’t even notice they were devoid of feeling, unless you were really looking for it. Zhao probably never would.

* * *

The ceremony left Zhao with the giddy rush he always felt when all eyes were focused on him. When he was commanding a ship, those eyes were looking for authority, for direction; here, it was a different kind of power, a passive admiration. He was floored to know he had been so publicly awarded something that so many other men and women craved. He would remember the moment the circlet of flames was set in his topknot for the rest of his life. 

Then it was all over, and so came the rush of greetings, of powerful strangers who suddenly wanted to know him and get a taste of his power, forge alliances, simper for favor. He addressed each person with a hand resting on Zuko’s lower back, wielding his spouse’s status like a scepter.

By virtue of the wedding taking place in the capital, he saw a few old academy schoolmates, sons and daughters of nobility he’d met ages ago who now feigned a deeper friendship than they’d ever shared, but the bulk of the guests were strangers to him. And of course, it was just as he was silently noting this to himself that Admiral Shu made his entrance. The jolly old git stumbled out of a throng of armoured officers and cried out in that booming voice, “Is the title ‘Prince Zhao’ meant to distract from the fact Chadeng wouldn’t make you an admiral?”

“Doesn’t matter - I outrank you now, old man.” Grinning, Zhao welcomed his old superior officer with a handshake that came with all those masculine extras, the shoulder clap, the jostling. 

It’d only been a couple years since they last talked, but Shu looked terrible. The last of the black hairs in his beard had been seized by stark white, and the lines in his face had deepened like trenches. Zhao was about to make some comment about how badly retirement had treated him when Shu said, “Won’t you introduce me to the unlucky omega you sank your claws into?”

“Are you going senile? They shouted his name a hundred times this afternoon.”

Shu gave a huff. “Yes, but he doesn’t know  _ me _ .”

Glancing over his shoulder, Zhao couldn’t help but notice how Zuko stood at a marked distance from their display, as if wary of being caught in the crossfire of their jocular greeting. But once addressed, he smiled beneficently and drew just a step closer, offering his hand.

“Pleased to meet you, Mister...?”

“Admiral Shu, darling.” His wrinkled old paws dwarfed the proffered hand. “Former superior officer to the rat bastard you’ve married. My condolences.”

Zhao wasn’t sure if that twitch of Zuko’s lips was horror or amusement. “I see. It’s nice of you to come to the ceremony.”

He excused himself to talk with some other old, important looking individuals. Shu barely waited for him to be out of earshot before he was panting in Zhao’s ear, “I can’t  _ believe _ you did it, boy! When you told me about the two year deferral, I thought Ozai was fucking you up the ass - I know, I  _ know _ he gave you commander and Mon Sai as collateral, but I did not believe for a second you were going to end up in the royal family. But you pulled through! Agni in all of his glory, did you pull. I saw Prince Zuko from a window in the shopping district, once, a few months back, and if there hadn’t been an inch of glass and a whole cabal of guards between us I would’ve tackled him on the spot and-”

Zhao cringed. “Shu, for fuck’s sake, that’s my mate.”

For once, the old man actually relented. “Of course, of course. I’ll keep my jealousy to myself.”

“No, I love the jealousy. By all means, tell me how jealous you are. Just don’t openly fantasize about all the ways you’d fuck him. I don’t want to picture your disgusting old cock.”

At that, Admiral Shu roared with laughter. He actually needed a moment to lean on Zhao and wipe the tears from his eyes. “See, Zhao, this is what I missed about you. You know how to take a joke. That’s what I miss about the navy in general, actually - you can just talk, not like with the fucking royal court, all the verbal loops and passive voice, flowery-worded bullshit, where they’ll give you those thin-lipped polite smiles and stab you in the back a second later. We navy guys, we may berate each other, but we stick together, no matter what. I mean, you and I, we’ve come to each other’s aid quite a few times, hm?”

Zhao could feel his grin settling into a grimace. “You sound like you’re about to ask me a favor, although I don’t see why. I was under the impression you’d retired.”

The old man narrowed his eyes. “I wrote to you about this! I was  _ strongly encouraged _ to retire based on some groundless rumors, but with the right allies-”

Zhao groaned. “No - no, I’m not doing this. I got married an hour ago. What makes you think I’m going to risk my standing with the royal family already?”

“But you’re on the inside, now! You have sway!” Admiral Shu urged. “If you help me get my job back, I can be back on the water in no time-”

“You are _two_ _hundred_ years old! What the fuck do you want your job back for?”

He had insulted Shu’s age a thousand times, but this was the only instance to draw a genuine  _ harumph _ out of the old man. “I still have a lot to give this great nation.”

“Like the transport of slave labor?”

“ _ Allegedly _ . Which, even if I were involved in something like that, I don’t get the fuss. We have the prison camps, we have a class system and servants - what’s the buying and trading of a few Water Tribe savages?” Shu jabbed one gnarled finger at Zhao’s face. “Which, speaking of, you seem to be forgetting that I know  _ your _ sins as well as you know mine. I could easily walk right up to your new spouse and unbury a load of  _ your _ Water Tribe secrets.”

An insurmountable rage wiped out Zhao’s vision for half a second before he managed to compose himself. Clenching his fists to stifle the smoke threatening to pour out, he leaned down and said, in a vicious whisper, “Consider the wedding invite an apology for ignoring all your letters. You’re here; you’re surrounded by important people. Make some friends, mingle - help yourself, but don’t so much as breathe a  _ word _ about the Southern Water Tribe in Zuko’s direction, or I will fucking kill you. Are we clear?” 

Admiral Shu lifted his chin, face fixed into an ugly sneer. “Fine. I’ll make the most of this gathering. But I’ll be calling on you again.” And just like that, the hostility dropped away from his features, and he returned to a jolly old man. He called out to someone he recognized and waved, shouting jocular obscenities and retreating into the wedding crowd as if he hadn’t just been blackmailing the groom.

* * *

Azula sent the beta advisor away with a dismissive wave of her hand. He was lucky that was all she did; she was in a rotten mood from being forced to play messenger for her father. The fact she had to walk across the room just to tell him the entire war council’s schedule was open for the foreseeable future seemed a waste of her valuable time.

Whatever. At least he was easy to spot in this crowd once she started looking for him. Wherever he loomed, the faces of the surrounding cabal would go stony as well, so that you only had to find a cluster of austerity amongst the happy guests, then follow that bad mood to its center. As she made her approach, she noticed a flutter of expensive silks over at a nearby table. There was Zuzu, star of the night, chattering away with two severe-looking men while his brand new husband nowhere to be seen. Not that these old geezers posed a threat to Zhao; they looked one bad fall away from eternal retirement. She squinted, and recognized them as members of the war council.

When she reached her father, she called out to him, cutting off a noblewoman mid-sentence. “Father, I saw Zuzu talking to General Hao and Colonel Mun. Shall I pull him away before he embarasses you?”

The dismissive flutter of Ozai’s hand made her blood boil. “There’s no need for that, Azula. I asked him to talk to them.”

Azula wanted to see it as a slight against Zuko, that her father would require him to do his bidding even on his wedding night, but she couldn’t help but notice that  _ she _ was the one saddled with war council schedules while Zuko got to talk to people of no small importance. She suppressed her irritation by grinning into it. 

“You asked Zuko to  _ talk? _ Then I suppose it must not be all that delicate of a situation.”

“It isn’t. I have too much to attend to tonight to bother with it myself.” 

She sucked her teeth. “And you didn’t ask me because…?”

“It wasn’t a job that required any finesse,” Ozai said smoothly. He finally stopped talking to her over his shoulder, turning towards her to shut the rest of the group out. He snapped his fingers, and as if they’d rehearsed it, the nobility flanking him dispersed into the crowd, leaving the father and daughter alone. 

“It’s just strange, that you’d rely on Zuko for anything. You might as well have asked a particularly bright monkey rat to do it for you.”

In the good old days, he would’ve laughed at her wit. Now he merely sighed. “Really, Azula. Your brother has a  _ few _ uses other than his ability to produce an heir.”

She blinked. It wasn’t like Ozai, to make a verbal slip. But surely that was all it was. “An heir for Kirachu, you mean.”

Spirits, if her father didn’t have the most chilling smile. “You know, I never did technically name my heir.”

Azula gritted her teeth. “You didn’t  _ need _ to. I’m the only alpha you have!” 

Her father sniffed. “Even so, Azula, I have to admit that I’m curious what Zuko’s capable of producing. I do plan on reigning nearly as long as my late father, if not longer, so I have plenty of time to see my grandchildren grow into promising candidates. Zhao’s family has produced a number of skillful benders, and it’d be interesting to have an alpha  _ male _ in the line of succession…”

Azula fumed. It didn’t matter that Zhao was probably sterile, and of no true threat to her; the fact her father would even  _ pretend _ to entertain his inferior heirs over  _ her, _ the oldest alpha child and direct descendant, was a disgusting insult.

Even if the crowd around them hadn’t all dispersed, Azula still would have stamped her foot, a sprig of flame to her fury as she shouted, “This is ridiculous! Zuko couldn’t ever do anything right before, and now you’re pretending that the two of you are  _ so _ close? I won’t be treated like I’m the lesser child! I won’t be treated like, like-” Agni, she didn’t want to say it, but she couldn’t stop herself. “I won’t be treated like you used to treat Zuko!”

Ozai scowled. “At least Zuko can do what I ask of him.” He lowered his voice to a rasping, furious whisper. “What on earth happened in Omashu? How did you let things go so _wrong?_ ”

“I didn’t,” she pleaded. “I conquered it for you in a mere day!” 

“But you let their king get away. That’s no  _ victory _ , that’s a stalemate. Who knows what sorts of reinforcements he’ll return with? Honestly, Azula, I expected better from you.”

She bit into her lip to hold the litany of curses inside herself, before they earned her a public berating. She reminded herself that he hadn’t been there. He couldn’t have known what it was like - if she had stayed and tried to subdue that crazy old crone all by herself, it would have been suicide. A true leader had to be smart enough to know when she had to retreat and regroup. 

At least she’d had enough of the upper hand to drive  _ them _ out and keep Omashu to herself. But to admit she’d seen them, let alone that she’d allowed them to slip away…

In the time she took to calm herself, her father had grown bored with their talk of her legacy, as if it was some paltry matter she should just get over. “What did my aide have to say about the war council openings? I’d like to get a word in with Zhao as soon as possible.”

“Zhao,” she repeated. The name tasted like dirt in her mouth. “What business does he have with the war council?”

“He has a proposal. Very ambitious, for someone who’s only been commanding a fleet for two years, but this family could stand a touch of ambition, I think.”

If only he hadn’t given her that one last, nasty little sweep of the eyes when he said that. She was almost considering giving him an honest answer.

She smiled benevolently. “You know, there’s really just the one day that works for everyone...”

* * *

As soon as he’d finished the task laid before him, Zuko all but ran to the nearest servant carrying a tray of wine. He’d wanted to be clear-headed for the conversations with General Hao and Colonel Mun, but now that he’d gotten the information his father wanted and passed it along, he could drink without worry. His body thrummed with that post-anxiety adrenaline, when you know the deed you’ve been anxious for is done but your body hasn’t yet adjusted to the idea that the danger has passed. He swallowed the first glass a little too quickly, and glanced around to ensure no one terribly important was watching before grabbing another to carry around the room and sip at less frantically than the first. 

They’d moved inside the palace for the reception and were in one of the larger halls. They’d held a much grander celebration here when Ozai was crowned, one that made Zuko’s wedding look like a dinner party in comparison. Almost as if the memory had summoned him, Zuko spotted his father moving across the room, a throng of guards hovering around him like moons in orbit. He stopped, nodded at someone, and Zuko was intrigued to see that he was standing just a few meters from Zhao and his older brother, Wei, who turned and locked eyes with the Fire Lord.

The fabled childhood friends, finally reunited. Zuko watched, eager for a glimpse of his father beyond the cold-hearted ruler of nations that he knew, but there was little to observe. The old friends exchanged only a few words before Ozai moved on, sights set firmly on Zhao. Zuko frowned and took a hesitant step closer, not intending to approach, exactly, but wanting to observe their conversation, to ensure-

He was startled by a sudden impact on his left side, and had to keep steady to prevent spilling his wine all over his robes. There was Ty Lee, clutching his arm, and here came Iroh, and Mai, the lot of them grinning (except for Mai, but that soft-eyed look she wore was pretty much the closest he’d get from her). 

“We were looking all over for you!” Ty Lee exclaimed. “We wanted to approach you right after the ceremony, but then that huge crowd grabbed you and you disappeared, and  _ then _ your uncle saw you talking to those important guys so we were all nervous to interrupt you. But now you’re here, so we can finally celebrate!” She snuggled his arm like a demented toddler. He laughed.

“How are you feeling?” Iroh asked. Zuko could ask him the same question; his voice was thick, and his eyes swollen and red. It touched him to see his uncle so choked up on his behalf.

“I feel very happy to see you all, but my arm is going numb,” Zuko replied. When Ty Lee’s grip loosened, he asked, “What brought you all together?”

“We bumped into each other while we were trying to find you,” Mai explained, a bit of strain in her voice. For the first time, Zuko noticed that she was holding a fairly large box. She held it out to him with both arms. “Here - the obligatory wedding gift.”

“Don’t let her tone fool you,” said Ty Lee. “She’s been  _ dying _ to give this to you. Her aura’s been positively rouge all day.”

“Shut up,” Mai huffed. “It’s just because this is super heavy, okay? I’ve lugged this dumb thing all around the Great Hall.”

“You could’ve left it with the other gifts, but you wanted to give it to him personally, because you have a heart that is softer than a fresh-baked bun,” Ty Lee teased.

Mai was positively blushing with annoyance. Zuko refrained from teasing her as well, and offered a small, appreciative smile as he reached out to lift the lid off the box. Iroh and Ty Lee leaned in, eager to see the mystery gift and how Zuko would react.

Nestled in a bed of blue silk was a pair of dao swords. They weren’t overly-decorated, with simple rosewood handles, no engravings. But the quality of the steel…

“The same blacksmith who made these did some of my favorite knives,” Mai mumbled. “He knows what he’s doing.”

Zuko shook his head in disbelief. “Mai… these are amazing.”

“It’s no big deal. I know you’ve always wanted a pair, so…”

She trailed off, realizing that, just as Zuko had been enraptured by the gift, so too was Iroh. He touched a hand to his heart, voice faint. “Spirits. Lu Ten used to have a pair just like these.”

“I know-” Zuko and Mai said, perfectly in sync. They stopped, looked at one another, and laughed. 

“Mai, I  _ love _ them. I mean it. Thank you.” If it wasn’t for the clunky box in her hands, he’d embrace her.

“Awesome, great - can somebody take these from me, now? Like I said before, super heavy.”

Funny, since daos tended to be lightweight swords, but there were two of them, and the box probably added some weight of its own. Zuko could have easily taken them, but Iroh insisted, promising to have them carefully set aside, possibly even sent directly back to Zuko’s room where they’d be safe and sound.

So… Mai was free-handed, now. She couldn’t seem to settle her gaze directly on him, looking at him and then away, like a nervous cat. The tension was too much for some people. Ty Lee grabbed Mai by the arm and dragged her into their already awkward embrace. It earned her only a brief glare from Mai before they decided to just let it happen, Zuko carefully curling his arm around her. “Don’t pull away too quickly,” he laughed. “I’ll spill this glass all over you.”

“I guess I wouldn’t want to make you to make a mess on your wedding day.” And she hugged him back, head tucked under his chin, her hair soft and marked by some uncharacteristically feminine scent, flowery and light. 

* * *

Given how hard it had been to secure Ozai’s attention since his arrival in the capital, Zhao had taken for granted that he wouldn’t run into his father-in-law tonight. But then Wei had gone silent in the middle of their bickering at the reception, and Zhao looked up from his drink to see his older brother’s face had gone soft with reverence. He followed Wei’s gaze to the approaching Fire Lord, who exchanged a meager greeting with his old friend before looking directly at Zhao.

What luck! Naturally Zhao assumed Ozai wanted to discuss his upcoming meeting with the war council, excitement only growing when the Fire Lord gestured for him to follow so they could have a more isolated chat just off to the side. But when he had Zhao alone, rather than broaching the subject of the invasion of the north, he merely pointed into the distance, and gave a cryptic warning: “You’ll want to separate those two.”

Zhao followed Ozai’s pointing finger to where Zuko stood amongst a small group. It consisted of his uncle and a pair of omega girls Zhao vaguely remembered having seen before, although he couldn’t recall their names.

“Which two?” Zhao asked, and Ozai sighed as if this wasn’t a reasonable thing to clarify.

“Iroh and Zuko. If you aren’t careful, my brother will do everything in his power to turn Zuko against you.”

The accusation was so out of place that Zhao couldn’t voice his protests without fear of laughing in the Fire Lord’s face. Surely Ozai was joking? That same Iroh, who bowed in thanks to  _ servants _ , who couldn’t remember the name of his first outpost in the eastern Earth Kingdom but could recite the facts of an estate he’d never visited just to ingratiate himself to their family,  _ that _ man was scheming against his beloved nephew’s new husband? Zhao’s disbelief must have shown on his face, because Ozai now insisted, “He may seem like a doddering old fool, but he has spent the better part of the last two years trying to turn my children against me. It hasn’t worked, but only because I actively correct it.”

“And why would he do that?” Zhao asked.

Ozai’s lips tightened. “I would think, Zhao, that you are intimately familiar with man’s thirst for power. Just as you will find men undercutting each other for control in the ranks of the navy or in the upper echelons of this very court, you should be wary of your new family members.”

Ah, yes. Good old-fashioned royal conspiracy. Zhao supposed Ozai had been cooking up something similar when they last met, right before he conveniently took the throne from that same brother who was bumbling around the wedding now. It made sense there could be some lingering hostility there; he just had yet to see any evidence of it. 

Zhao bowed low. “I’ll be wary, sire. Thank you.”

Ozai accepted his display of deference with the usual royal indifference. “Now that you know, it shouldn’t be too much trouble. Zuko is generally obedient and responds well to a firm hand. Make it clear where you stand and remove him from his uncle’s influence, and he should be easy to maintain.” 

What a lovely way of describing one’s own child. Zhao wondered vaguely if the person he should be separating from Zuko wasn’t actually his own father. Still, he was bored of the topic of Iroh’s machinations when he still had so many of his own to fulfill, so he changed the subject. “Any word from the war council on when I’ll get to speak my piece?”

Ozai nodded. Apparently he hadn’t just come here to sew the seeds of discord, but because he had actual news. 

“You will be meeting with the war council on the fifteenth.”

Zhao nearly dropped his glass. “Of this month?”

“Yes. Is there a problem?”

It was currently the eighth. He couldn’t very well say to Ozai that he had planned to spend the next seven to ten days fucking his son, but he had to know. With an awkward cough, Zhao said, “I have plans, sir. With Zuko.”

Ozai leveled him with a look that could’ve poisoned an entire town’s water supply. “If they’re so important, then you needn’t waste the council’s time. I can tell them you’re not interested.”

“No,” Zhao said, immediately, “there’s no need to do that. I’ll make it work.”

Ozai released a heavy sigh. “Very well. I hope you’ll be ready with a convincing argument. I will not be pleased if you end up choking and the others think I’ve given you this opportunity merely because you’ve married my son.”

Zhao fought back the heat bubbling in his palms, lest he start melting the stem of his glass. “I won’t let you down,  _ highness _ .”

* * *

Iroh is telling the story of how Zuko broke his wrist at age five, during a family vacation to Ember Island, and he’s telling it wrong, but he doesn’t know that. He still trusts the details Ursa told him all those years ago, and parrots them back with a little laugh, because Zuko’s mother, as sullen as she seemed, had been prone to defusing situations with silly details she’d observed or made up on the spot. She’d done it to Zuko countless times, making him laugh despite fear and pain, and she’d done it to Iroh once or twice, so that, to this day, he thought Zuko broke his wrist trying to jump into the water from the second floor balcony. Iroh recounts this story and laughs, and touches Zuko’s arm, and doesn’t notice the way Zuko pulls his left hand into his sleeve.

Zhao joins their group just as everyone’s laughing at Iroh’s story, and he grins along with them, even though he couldn’t have heard the setup. Ty Lee takes a step closer to him so that he doesn’t notice Mai has taken a step back. The dao swords are long gone, carefully spirited off somewhere, and Zuko wonders how Zhao would’ve reacted to them. He’d probably think they were unusual collectors’ items, or family heirlooms; Zhao makes the odd comment here and there that implies he thinks Ty Lee and Mai are Zuko’s distant cousins, not just friends.

The first chance he gets, Zuko asks Zhao what he’s been itching to since he spied them across the room, namely what his father wanted to talk to him about.

“He just wanted to pass along his congratulations to us both,” Zhao says with a shrug, and leaves it at that. Except that doesn’t sound like anything Zuko’s father would ever say. In fact, the last time Zuko had left to refill his glass, his father had stopped him to ask about General Hao and Colonel Mun’s upcoming votes for the war council. He’d offered no congratulation to speak of (had reprimanded him, in fact, for forgetting a detail Zuko was absolutely certain he hadn’t been asked to collect, but ended up apologizing for, anyway). It is an odd thing to lie about, but Zuko isn’t trained in calling people out on that sort of thing, and wants to put off all possible conflict until after the reception, so he lets it go for now. 

They have two more glasses. Three. Zuko feels himself hit that giddy peak, and climbs on dutifully with more alcohol. People keep bringing it to him, so he’s going to keep taking it. He gestures a little too widely with his glass while talking and Zhao stops his hand short of spilling (pause for Ty Lee cooing, how in sync the new couple already are), and then when the danger has passed, his arm slinks down around Zuko’s waist and stays there. It’s steadying, and also not. At points, Zhao’s grip actually unbalances Zuko, but they stay where they are, dutifully linked together.

Maybe Zhao and alcohol are not a bad mix, after all. Zuko feels calmer around him like this. Is it just because alcohol dulls the instincts, or is Zhao hunting him less, now that  _ his _ instincts are dulled? The arm stays around his waist, but there’s no groping or commanding gesticulations or any of the other behavior that has made Zuko uneasy over the last few days. His first impressions of Zhao now feel muddied by alcohol and time, the events of just a few days stretching on like they happened eons ago. He’s not sure how he feels about this man other than how he feels in the moment, and because they’re all drunk and laughing and the people he loves most in the world seem at ease with him, he feels good.

* * *

“Whose room are we going to later?” 

To Zuko’s surprise, the question comes out of his own mouth. Given the height difference, he’s had to pull his husband (there’s that word) down to talk to him, hand splayed over the soft hair on the back of his neck, lips so close to his ear they nearly touch. At some point their little group dispersed, which may be why he’s feeling so bold right now. No immediate audience, here at the edges of the room.

“Yours,” Zhao answers. “I’m only two doors down from your uncle.”

“Fair enough.” Come to think, is Zhao’s room  _ his _ now, or just a temporary space, until it’s acceptable for him to be sleeping in the same room as Zuko? Is Zuko expected to share his bedroom now? Not just the bed, but the shelf space, the drawers, all his personal effects? The thought stresses him out.

“I’m sure it’s absolutely unbearable for you,” Zhao says, and Zuko’s startled by the relevance to his thoughts until he elaborates, “having to fuck just down the hall from your uncle. I don’t know how you can stand going into heat in the same building as a relative.”

Zuko hates hearing the word  _ fuck _ in this context. Fuck is an expression of frustration. It’s not supposed to be used in its literal interpretation, and it’s certainly not supposed to be in the same sentence as one of his family members. His fingers slip from Zhao’s neck, and he says to the floor, “There are omegas living in hovels with extended family who have it worse. Imagine living in a tiny apartment.” He pauses, thinks. “Or an igloo.”

Zhao laughs. “They don’t  _ really _ live in igloos, those are just temporary structures for overnight hunts. Permanent homes are usually made of animal bones and fur…”

“Yes, sure. But one-room structures.  _ Small _ . At least I have a palace.”

Zhao swirls his glass. “There’s an arrangement amongst the tribe. They have entire buildings reserved just for giving privacy to omegas in heat. Couples and single tribe members are welcome to use them…”

“Well,” says Zuko, “in the Fire Nation, there are people crammed into tiny apartments who can’t afford to rent a room in privacy.”

“I’m surprised you know that.”

Zuko shrugs. “The coachmen always pick up speed when we pass through those neighborhoods.”

They get off topic, pulled into another whirlwind of greetings and laughter and yes, hello, thank you for coming, oh of course, help yourself. The lowest tiers of the guests (the bulk of the party, including Ty Lee and Mai, who hug him so fiercely it’s like they’re saying goodbye for the last time) file out of the palace, and there’s a lavish but austere dinner with the remainder, who are all majorly important politicians twice  _ Zhao’s _ age and interested in little but scowling into their plates. It’s a cold splash of water compared to the reception, and no one really makes conversation with the family, addressing only the Fire Lord himself. Even Iroh and Zhao are deathly silent as they eat, a little ragged-looking, drunk but at least coordinated enough to spoon soup into their mouths and avoid eye contact with Ozai. Zuko answers the occasional half-hearted compliments on the reception with as few syllables as possible. 

The trip from the table to his room is lost (simply because he’s following a practiced path, or the beginnings of a black-out?). There’s something about the dinner that’s only metabolized the alcohol faster, made him feel even less sure on his feet than before, and Zhao seems to be in the midst of a similar struggle; more than once, his hand comes out to brace himself on the wall, and he pauses, eyes closed, before continuing on. When they finally make it to Zuko’s room, they all but collapse on the bed.

Alcohol is only a great aphrodisiac up until a point, and they’ve long since surpassed it. So they lay on the bed, not really touching but thinking that they should, and end up on the topic of heat again. Zhao says, “Next time, I promise I’ll take you away from here.”

_ Where will you take me? _ is the easy, flirtatious follow-up. Zuko thinks he has it teed up, but what comes out of his mouth instead is, “You’ll be around for the next one?”

And Zhao’s eyes flicker over his face with a newfound wakefulness, doubtless trying to figure out if he’s being cornered into a commitment. “The next time we’re together, I guess,” he says, eventually. 

It’s uncomfortable because Zuko’s made it uncomfortable, and he grasps at that sleepy comfort they’d been settling into, tries to find a way to redirect the conversation to something positive. “Why don’t we go away for this one?” is the solution he stumbles into. 

Zhao laughs, but it’s forced-sounding. “Aren’t we cutting it close?”

“It’s not always exactly on schedule,” Zuko insists. He feels a little warm, true, but it could simply be the wine. “We could see how I feel in the morning…”

Zhao says, “I don’t want to leave the capital right now,” and looks slightly pained, like he’s holding something back, a firmer rejection, maybe, and Zuko feels all the more embarrassed that he ruined things, because of course he did, bringing up the sore subject of their future together, clinging to Zhao and then making an impulsive, drunken suggestion to cover it up.

And maybe the turmoil and the hurt show on his face, because Zhao says, “It’s not a bad idea, I just have something I need to do here, next week. I don’t want to stray too far.” And when Zuko asks him what, he only hesitates a moment or two before he admits, “I have a meeting. With the war council.”

Zuko knew there was something going on, but this comes as a surprise. He’d been under the impression commanders were too low-level to be included in that sort of thing. So he says, “Oh! That’s really impressive. What for?”

Zhao is lying on his back, and levels a grin at the ceiling. “I can’t say much, but if it goes right, it could change our lives. It could change the  _ world _ .”

Which only makes Zuko more curious what he’s proposing, but even after all the exhaustion of the ceremony and an obscene amount of wine, Zhao won’t budge on his secret. And Zuko asks more than once, waits for Zhao’s eyelids to get heavy to ask again, in a soothing and low voice, pulling with some inner force,  _ tell me, tell me _ , and Zhao rubs his eyes and mumbles, “I just don’t get what your dad wants out of me. I want to impress him. But he’s so hard to read sometimes.” And Zuko laughs, because that makes two of them. He gives into the urge to take Zhao’s hand, thumb gently stroking over the slackening fingers.

It has to mean something, doesn’t it? It has to mean something that Ozai picked Zuko for the task of this marriage.  _ Entrusted _ him with this. It isn’t just the political importance, the need to maintain a united front; it’s the fact that this is Wei’s brother, that even if they don’t talk so much anymore, they  _ used _ to be close friends, so Ozai chose someone he tangentially cares about for his son to marry. It has to count for something. 

Zuko wants so badly to fall in love with this person his father has chosen for him. He wants to  _ be loved _ by this person his father has chosen for him. And right now, when Zhao has his guard down, is drunk and unobtrusive and… not helpless, but vulnerable, at least, it starts to feel possible. Like this entire arrangement could work out for the better.

Zhao’s responses are getting quieter, shorter and farther between, his breathing easier. Zuko thinks he’s fallen asleep, but then comes the half-mumbled request: 

“Teach me about the Avatar.”

Zuko bites back a smile. “Which one?”

Zhao releases a sound that could be a sigh of exasperation or the beginning of a snore. It’s hard to tell when his eyes are closed. “The new one.”

“No one really knows much about him yet.”

“ _ You _ know all about him.” 

Said with such trust. He must believe it inherently, to say it even when barely awake. Zuko feels something soft and warm curl inside him, and he says, “Airbenders were a nomadic people. So it makes sense that he’s used to picking up and moving on fairly quickly…”

And he goes on like this, reciting what little information has survived on the airbenders (and a few tidbits on sky bisons), until he’s sure Zhao is asleep. Then he takes the rare opportunity to observe without being observed himself. 

His gaze runs over the sharp hairline, the strong nose, the jaw that has been strategically widened by facial hair, but by no means would be slim or weak-chinned without it. Zhao looks older than twenty-eight, and though the effect is dulled when the muscles of his face relax, Zuko can still see the fine lines, subtle spots of age he’s yet to see on his own face when he looks into the mirror. He’s not sure why, but these features feel inherently masculine, and do nothing to detract from Zhao’s appearance. The feeling that stirs in Zuko’s chest is affectionate, but also, strangely, jealous. 

He falls asleep like this, staring into his husband’s face, pulled into the hypnotic lull of his sleeping breaths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i was outlining this chapter, i described zuko's panic at the altar as a "this is not my beautiful house" moment
> 
> considering moving away from the weekly release schedule fairly soon because im starting to catch up with chapters im writing and want to leave more time for plot adjustments / major rewrites. chapter 14 might still be on schedule if i can get my rewrites done by the end of next week


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko goes into heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for rape / gaslighting.

_ There is a force lying dormant inside him. It curls in his limbs alongside his veins, a second river running parallel. He feels it curling in his stomach, and when he inhales, he stokes it like a furnace, oxygen rushing in to feed it. It rises and curls, just a little larger than before. _

_ His fingers seem to thrum with energy, and when he looks down, the tips are bathed in a golden light. He twists his wrist, opens his palms, and watches the strand of gold unwind from his finger and spiral up into the air, dissolving. Meanwhile the temperature crawls upwards, body heated from the inside out by another, insistent source of heat that licks at his skin with red-hot flames.  _

_ His limbs are sticky, melting like sugar in a furnace, and he wants to stretch and extend them and allow this molten heat burning at his back inside. The fire burning in his stomach twists and curls and grows and all the while another heat is at his back, and they want to spread and burn together until there’s no way to separate them, one raging wall of destruction, but he has to let them touch, has to open up and let this fire inside - _

It is a hundred thousand degrees in his bedroom, and where damp, naked skin touches naked skin, the heat is all the more unbearable. He is lying on his side and he cannot see a thing but the suffocating blackness, the stiff fabric of his robes twisted around his torso and holding him in his place like a straightjacket. A hand is gripping his upper thigh, holding it out and away from his body to create room for the stiff length buried inside him. The force of entry is probably what woke him up. 

Zuko whispers, “What are you doing?” and Zhao replies, “Your heat started.” His voice is strained, likely in the throes of a rut, and it’s like those words flip a switch inside Zuko, because suddenly he understands why his veins feel like lit fuses, why he’s panting like a drowning man breaching the ocean’s surface. He can smell the heady scent of his own arousal, but there’s a stronger musk that overrides it, familiar and yet sharpened by proximity and rut. And then there’s the obsessive throbbing deep inside himself, nearly molten with desire.

Although they were intimate the night before last, Zuko’s still never seen an alpha in a true rut; the knot should be swelling at the base of Zhao’s cock right now, the heightened pheromones sending him into a near-feral state. Zuko knows this, knows that’s why this is happening right now, but there’s still a distance to the way he acknowledges the tactile facets of this moment, twisting them in his mind like a bloody gemstone held aloft to the light. He’s wet, engorged with blood and tingling,  _ physically _ aroused, but in his head, he’s not. In his head he’s just confused and, honestly, a little frightened.

“I’m going to move,” Zhao says, and he does, although there is a clear effort, a drag on the way out, difficult to push back in. Zuko instinctively tries to close his legs; while struggling against the grip on his thigh, he ends up meeting Zhao’s thrust, taking him deeper. He bites back a whimper of panic or pleasure as he feels the wet slide of his arousal begin easing the way. He manages to get his right leg free, to press his thighs together, but it doesn’t force Zhao out, only tightens him up, and Zhao groans, flattens his palm on the soft globe of Zuko’s ass and thrusts again, and again, and again, with growing urgency.

Zuko’s first instinct is to keep struggling, but his second instinct curls in his gut and arches his back, improving the angle of penetration. He bites back a moan, hand scrambling for some sort of purchase and ending up fisted in the sheets, stabilizing him while Zhao rocks into him. 

In all his desperate, lonely heats, Zuko had been convinced that what he needed was the real thing, what he needed simply couldn’t be satisfied by his own fingers. Zhao is  _ big, _ and Zuko feels himself stretched so thin around him that he can feel every  _ twitch _ and throb of the cock inside him, and even though it hurts, even though it’s too much, still, it’s not enough, filling him instead with a bottomless hunger for more. He stares into the dark and tries not to concentrate on how deeply Zhao fucks him, how he seems to brush against a spot he could never reach on his own, tender and electric with nerves that set his thighs trembling. 

A hand comes to curl around Zuko’s throat, and he’s stunned by how the gentle but authoritative press of that thumb against his trachea makes him quiver, how a light constriction on his airflow immediately makes him moan in a way that pierces the dark. This is what everyone’s always told him about, isn’t it? The submissive instinct of an omega. His mind might be saying one thing, but his body is begging him to go soft and pliant, to let Zhao use him however he sees fit. It’s natural. It’s natural to want this.  _ He wants this. _

Zhao is fucking him at an angle that grows steadily sharper, their bodies twisting and moving until Zuko is underneath him on his elbows and knees, robes hiked up so his ass is bare, legs spread to an uncomfortable strain as Zhao thrusts so deeply into him he can feel his knot teasing at his rim. He’s being too rough, but then, that’s just how rut is. He can’t be blamed if the litany of noises Zuko emits are misinterpreted along the way.

Zhao thrusts down, hard and insistent, less for the pleasure of it and more to force a stretch, and Zuko lets out a cry of pain, knees sliding apart on the sheets to open him wider, all the while pressing his face into the pillows, his hair in his face, teeth at his knuckle. The further he sinks into the bed, the more Zhao seems to bear down on him, and he can feel it, the swelling knot that seems so impossibly large, his desire to get away and avoid the pain fighting with the hot, near-manic insistence that he rock upwards and take every inch inside his slick passage.

The thrusting pauses for just an instant as a hand cards through Zuko’s hair and pulls it off his neck. (In the struggle, Zhao accidentally yanks at it, whispers, “Sorry,” and Zuko’s too humiliated by the white-hot jolt of pleasure that it sent straight to his cock to ask him to pull it again.) Hot breath at his neck announces the teeth in quick pursuit, and is he thinking of the painful way that scar stands out on Ama’s neck, or is his head empty but for the primal need to be filled and fucked and claimed? He is already prone, cannot stretch his neck any more enticingly than it is already displayed, and so he whimpers into the covers and closes his eyes even though he already can’t see what’s going to happen next.

Zhao bites down at the same moment his knot breeches Zuko’s rim, the twin stabs of pain enough to drive him to release a cry that is lost in the covers of their marital bed. Where his neck meets his shoulder, it stings and throbs and he swears he can picture the skin tearing away, like meat from a bone; if he were to kiss Zhao now, he’d taste his own blood. 

Broad fingers encircle his cock and squeeze, spread precum over the head and down the shaft. While the sensation is incredible, the pain that assaults him from both sides and the suffocating discomfort of the heat from their bodies is nearly enough to stave off Zuko’s orgasm. 

Nearly. Zhao’s teeth release his shoulder and he groans low, fingers stuttering mid-stroke. Posed on his hands and knees, face pressed to the mattress with his hips raised high in submission, Zuko can feel thick ropes of cum filling him up, spattering against his sensitive inner walls in a way that is both foreign and obscene. With this, the pleasurable heat that has been curling in Zuko’s stomach flares like a lit fuse, and he finally comes with one long, shuddering moan. 

(It doesn't escape his notice that he orgasms the first time someone ever breeds him. But then, people are always saying he makes for a model omega.) 

Zhao’s hand is still curled around his cock, and he milks Zuko until he’s so sensitive his legs shake with every touch, until Zuko reaches down and physically pulls the hand away. Zhao rumbles an apology in his ear, says, “I know I should’ve stopped, but the  _ sounds _ you were making,” and Zuko’s breath hitches.

It puts a strain on Zuko’s back to stay arched in this position, but luckily Zhao makes quick work of maneuvering them onto their sides; as the heavier of the two, he has to lead the momentum. They’ll be stuck together another fifteen minutes or so, until his knot’s no longer swollen, so they’re forced to lay close together. Zuko feels a tongue run over the wound on his neck, an almost animal comfort, until the air hits it and it stings again. The feeling is unpleasant, but it hardly registers, being just one point of focus in a full-body throb. 

It’s some time before he’s able to pull himself free of his husband’s grip, Zhao’s arms slack around him, breath coming in a gentle rhythm that suggests he’s already asleep himself. Zuko wraps himself in a tight cocoon of covers on the opposite side of the bed, overly hot but protective. He thinks that in this assault of sensations - physical heat and biological heat and pain and nerves - it’ll be impossible to fall back asleep. And that is his last thought before he does.

* * *

The breeze is a relief on his feverish skin, but the depth of hatred Zuko feels towards the open window for letting the sunlight in is almost bottomless. The light is blindingly white and every inch of his face hurts, doubtlessly the fault of one too many glasses of wine the previous night. He opens one fatigued eye and scans the room, sees his loincloth on the floor along with the quilt. 

Zhao is across the room, clothed only in a pair of soft breeches, hair not even tied up in a topknot yet. He looks surprisingly calm and lucid - isn’t rut supposed to make alphas feral with lust? Yet there he is at Zuko’s desk amongst the Avatar research, gingerly picking up documents and skimming them, before moving onto the next most interesting piece. Although it looks like a mess, there’s a system to it, and Zuko wants him to stop in case he ruins it, but he’s also too tired to say a word. He shuts his eye, buries his head in the covers, and tries to go back to sleep.

But his movements must have alerted Zhao, because he hears, “You’re finally awake.” Zuko wants to ignore the greeting, but the bed sinks, the covers are pulled away, and there Zhao is, smiling down at him. There are fingers in his hair, stroking along his scalp, and even though he’s feeling a little crabby, Zuko finds himself leaning into the touch. Zhao seems to know all the places his hangover sits, traces the pain with gentle fingers and whorling patterns. 

The skin-to-skin contact stops being soothing and starts being something else fairly fast. Zhao has brought with him the heady scent of his rut; it seems to sink into Zuko’s skin and gently tug his nerves to a quivering attention much like the real fingers that now skate along his scalp. Zhao kneads a particularly tender spot on his skull, and suddenly Zuko’s exhaustion is fighting against the urge to offer himself up. Lying on his stomach, he finds himself stretching out, hips and thighs angling ever so slowly towards Zhao in a way that leaves Zuko vexed and relieved he’s still clothed. He wonders if the scent of his own arousal is as salient to Zhao as it is to him.

“We should get cleaned up,” Zhao says, and Zuko only whines a little when he pulls away. His heat seems to be in its early enough stages that it’s not  _ impossible _ to focus on anything but sex, although the idea of getting “cleaned up” is immediately followed by visions of a particularly salacious bathtub scene in  _ Caress of the Moon Spirit _ he has to physically shake his head to banish. 

As Zuko’s sitting up, the right side of his neck aches, the tendons running all the way along his shoulder feeling sore deep inside the muscle. The force of the bite likely bruised him. He winces, touches the skin. He can feel the tender impressions left by Zhao’s teeth.

“I want to get the sheets changed,” Zhao says. Seems unnecessary this early in a heat, when they’re only going to defile them a hundred times from now, but then Zuko follows one pointing finger to a small smudge of blood. “We were supposed to switch to red, anyway. Probably because it hides it better.”

Zuko frowns. Zhao is referring to a tradition often described as the setup of a marital bed. A long time ago, it meant building and installing a literal bed, but in the last few decades, when it’s become more common for new couples to keep living with extended family, it just means putting a new set of red sheets and blankets on the bed they already have. Zhao’s insistence that the red is for the purpose of covering blood is, honestly, misleading and vulgar. 

“...The red is supposed to symbolize that the Fire Nation has blessed the marriage,” Zuko explains. “It’s the color of our country, of flame and prosperity.”

Zhao gives him a benevolent smile, like one might give a child who’s said something naive. “Right. And blood.”

Zuko tries again. “The tradition has meaning…”

“Yes,” Zhao agrees, “but it’s also awfully convenient. Omegas are supposed to be virgins on their wedding nights. Blood and the loss of virginity tend to go hand-in-hand.”

Do they, now? Zuko’s not an idiot, he’s absorbed enough of their surrounding culture to know that, but the mere mention makes him think about the night before with more scrutiny. Often the effects of a bad night’s sleep are wiped out under the discerning light of day, but those memories still come to him in a mix of confusion and fear. Even knowing it might hurt, it wasn’t what he thought losing his virginity would be like.

“About last night…” Zuko starts, but he trails off, trying to gather his thoughts. 

Zhao perks up. “Right -  _ you _ were incredible.”

Zuko falters over the compliment. “Really? Thank you, I just…”

Zhao seems to detect that there’s something more to what Zuko’s trying to say, and the supports holding his smile start to strain. “Was it alright for you?

“Of course,” Zuko says immediately, not wanting to hurt his feelings. 

“You sure?”

“Yes.” A pause. “But I don’t really remember how it started.”

Something tugs at the corner of Zhao’s mouth. “You had a lot to drink.”

“I did,” Zuko admits. “But I’m not talking about a black-out. I don’t think I was… awake. When it started.”

That seems to throw Zhao. “Are you sure?” he asks. Zuko nods, trying to be as delicate as possible, but Zhao scoffs, quickly becoming indignant. “I mean, I’m pretty sure  _ you’re _ the one who initiated.” 

The shock must register on Zuko’s face, because Zhao quickly clarifies, “ _ I _ was asleep, but I woke up to  _ you _ grinding your hips against me. Don’t worry, though; I wasn’t alarmed.” A smile with teeth. “I thought it was a rather pleasant way to wake up.”

Zuko shakes his head. There’s no way that he got things so wrong, that he was the one to initiate - he wouldn’t have forgotten something like that, would he? Zhao sees his disbelief and reaches out to touch him on the tender shoulder, says, “It’s alright - like I said, you had a lot to drink, so you might not remember doing it.”

“But I  _ do _ remember waking up, I…”

“I mean. It’s not  _ impossible _ you weren’t awake, and I just didn’t realize.” Zhao’s tone says otherwise, like this is one last possible excuse he’ll humor, for Zuko’s sake. “You could’ve been rubbing up against me in your sleep.”

“Is that possible?”

“Sure,” says Zhao. “Heats are powerful. If you can walk and talk in your sleep, you can probably do other things.”

Zuko had no history of sleep-walking, but he did toss and turn a lot. Maybe he really did have a tendency to… do certain things in his sleep while he was in heat, and he just had no idea. It’s not like he could observe himself when he was unconscious. While he’s struggling to piece it all together, Zhao’s hand grips his shoulder a little too hard, and Zuko winces into the touch. 

“Sore?” Zhao asks.

“Yeah. The bite…”

Zhao pivots Zuko so he can get a better look at that mating mark, throwing the long mass of black hair (tangled from sleep) over the opposite shoulder so it isn’t in his way. He clucks his tongue when he sees the extent of the damage. “I’ve truly outdone myself with this one.” He traces just shy of the bruised and injured flesh, but even so, Zuko winces again. 

“Here, I’ve got you.” Zhao runs his fingers along the muscle of Zuko’s shoulder, touches gently, only kneading when those first attempts don’t make Zuko suck a sharp breath between his teeth. There’s a heat to Zhao’s touch, and at first Zuko thinks it’s just his natural body temperature, maybe a trick of his own biological cycle, but then a hot palm works against a knotted muscle and it’s undeniable that Zhao is performing some sort of restrained firebending. 

“What is that?” Zuko asks.

“Just a trick to help sore muscles.” The hand sweeps past his shoulder, runs over his back with a trail of heat. “Beats having to heat up a compress.”

Zuko hums in agreement. The attempt to soothe the ache of his mating mark quickly loses track, as Zhao’s hand traces over his shoulders and starts to work the tension out of them. The hand smooths over Zuko’s neck, pushing his robes down, raking a warm glow down the center of his back and sending his skin tingling in response.

Zuko shifts slightly, Zhao’s careful ministrations awakening a different sort of ache between his legs, and by the time a second hand joins the first, kneading the muscles of his back with a comforting heat, he’s squirming under Zhao’s touch. That familiar flush is creeping along his skin, making every touch electric, and he unconsciously rocks his hips back and forth as desire pools between his legs in a wet slide. The older man manages to get part of the way down Zuko’s back, but the robes are in the way again, stopping him from getting anywhere particularly exciting. 

“Help me out of this,” Zuko rasps, and Zhao struggles with the tightly secured obi for approximately fifteen seconds before Zuko hears a small  _ waft _ , followed by the distinct smell of ash. Zuko wants to be mad that they’re destroying such an expensive piece of clothing, but the instant he turns his head, he sees the strain of Zhao’s biceps as he rips the blackened remnants of silk away from his body. The sight makes Zuko’s mouth go dry. 

Zhao catches his eye and smirks, says, “Not like you were going to wear it again, anyway,” and then pulls him into a kiss. Zuko twists, throws his arms around Zhao’s neck and pulls him down, so he’s lying on his back with the other man kneeling over him. Here he can appreciate the sheer physicality of him, the jut of his shoulders, the weight of him bearing down, and this, this is much closer to what Zuko wanted in the first place, what he’s craved during every heat for the past  _ two years,  _ so he banishes the previous night from his mind and sets about treating this like a hard reset. 

Zuko reaches out to palm Zhao through the fabric of his pants, feeling the size of him and marvelling slightly over the fact he’s already taken it all inside him. Meanwhile, Zhao bites and sucks at the unravaged parts of his neck, breath ragged as he slides his hand between Zuko’s legs. His hands are still warm, massaging over his shaft and balls, and from the throat, Zuko says, “Let me try,” manages to pull Zhao’s erection free and stroke it with one radiating palm. 

Zhao jerks out of his touch, and Zuko’s immediately mortified that he’s done the worst. “Did I burn you?” 

To his relief, Zhao just laughs into his neck. “No - I just forgot you could do that.” Before Zuko can comment, his husband’s lips are on his again, and there are fingers tracing at his entrance. It’s strange how the heat at their tips beckons the muscles to relax, the warm glow they leave in their wake as they fuck into him. Zuko shivers, gives Zhao’s cock a slow, careful stroke, concentrating on keeping his hands warm without letting them get lethal. All the while the fingers moving inside him curl, stroking at the tender and electric spot that sets him trembling, wrenches a moan out of his mouth, against Zhao’s tongue.

Once the fingers inside him are pulled free, Zuko curls his legs around Zhao’s middle and squeezes, lifts his hips and rubs his entrance against the length of his cock, lets him feel how wet he’s gotten in anticipation. Zhao’s fingers tangle in Zuko’s hair, pull his head back so his neck is exposed and he can watch the blissed out expression on his face. He asks, “Do you want this?” and grinds his cock against Zuko’s.

“Yes,” Zuko moans, and Zhao thrusts against him again. Zuko feels like there’s an unbearable hollow inside him, and he tries to press the erection rubbing against him at his entrance, groaning in frustration when Zhao angles his hips away.

“Beg me,” Zhao says, voice a low and rumbling command.

“I -” and Zuko stops, not because he doesn’t know the dialogue, but he’s too embarrassed to say it out loud.

Zhao thrusts against him again, and Zuko’s nails dig into the older man’s shoulders with the effort to hold on. He can feel the sheer length of Zhao’s cock throbbing against him, huge and hard, inches from his hole, and it’s now becoming more of an effort to bite his lip against the words Zhao wants to hear.

“Please fuck me,” Zuko says, voice practically a whimper, and Zhao finally thrusts inside him.

Zuko lets go of Zhao’s neck, hands sprawling, and then there are broad fingers closing around his wrists, pressing him into the bed with all of Zhao’s weight. When Zuko tests this grip, pulls, it doesn’t yield. He feels something wild curling in his stomach as Zhao holds him down and fucks him. 

Zhao fucks him hard and fast, all the while watching him with that intense golden gaze. It dredges up an enormous performance anxiety, and Zuko does everything in his power to make sure he still looks good, putting so much concentration into making sure he’s not doing anything horrible and involuntary with his face that he can barely concentrate on the pleasure building up in his gut. He must be doing something right, because Zhao’s eyes go reverent and he groans, “You look fucking incredible right now,” and those words light a path down Zuko’s body, every synapse standing at attention. Leaning into the performance of it all, he stretches out, bites his lip, and squeezes his thighs around Zhao’s midsection. Zhao curses and mutters more praise as he speeds up.

Zuko comes first, with a low, shaky cry wrenched from his throat. He feels his own cum spill out over the hot skin of his tensing abdomen, cooling where it lands. He’s hyper sensitive post-orgasm, tries to pull away from Zhao’s thrusts as they light the nerves inside him like a wildfire, but Zhao doesn’t stop, just keeps going, slamming again and again into that tingling spot deep inside him. The grip on Zuko’s wrists is still firm enough that he can’t yank himself free, and the constant stimulation is just too, too much; he squirms and struggles under the onslaught, a stream of nonsensical begging chasing moans between his lips, until finally, with a strained sound akin to a roar, Zhao’s knot jams past his swollen rim. His hips stop moving, and Zuko once again experiences the wholly new and slightly obscene sensation of someone coming inside him.

Zhao lays on top of him, panting into his neck. Inside him, Zuko can feel his cock twitching, loosing a last few droplets. He stares at the ceiling and doesn’t really think, just lets relief wash over him and drown out the painful throbbing between his legs, his sore hips, the way his wrists have gone numb in Zhao’s grip. 

That was better. He was present for every moment, and had more of a sway over how things went than he had in their previous encounters. So as far as Zuko’s concerned, that was the real first time. The rest was just practice.

* * *

Even when they’re both aided by super-charged hormones, Zuko recovers more quickly than Zhao. While the older man catches his breath, Zuko watches the rise and fall of his chest. He pretends he’s not ogling the sheer size and definition of the muscle there, instead wondering if the small, twisted scar over one pectoral is the result of some youthful firebending accident. If Zhao’s eyes flicker towards him, Zuko’s gaze goes skittering away, afraid to be caught looking at his own husband.

Growing up an omega means navigating a precariously balanced contradiction. Once every three months, Zuko goes into a state where all he wants is to be mated: he knows this, everyone knows this, but acknowledging anything related to sex out loud is an act of savagery. This is the  _ Fire Nation _ . This is the beacon of civilization, where sex only ever occurs behind the closed doors of a marriage, and heats are a weakness to be dealt with in secret until you find a steadfast alpha who will impregnate you with as many future soldiers and citizens as possible. It is imperative to rise above base and animal needs, except in situations where it will benefit the strength of their great and glorious nation. 

As such, Zuko doesn’t really know how to initiate, yet. He has been made embarrassed to ask for the things he wants by years of conditioning; even knowing he’s in a situation where he’s finally allowed to want sex, voicing that still feels dirty and forbidden. He settles instead for staring, and hoping Zhao will somehow miraculously intuit what he wants without having to say a word. (Again, he is pulling on that same, invisible string he always does when he wants to act but is afraid of slipping up, begging the other person with every ounce of his spirit,  _ see me, see me, see me _ .)

Zhao finally catches him looking. He responds with a knowing smirk, which makes Zuko feel childish and exposed all at once. 

“Lay back,” Zhao commands, banishing Zuko’s nerves. He complies, body thrumming with excitement as Zhao kneels over him and kisses him open-mouthed. Their tongues slide together, mapping the interior of their mouths, but only for a moment; Zhao makes quick work, skimming down Zuko’s neck and chest with his lips. His tongue swirls over a nipple, teasing the bud before he bites down - does Zuko whine from the sensation, or because it’s so brief? Because there goes that mouth again, trailing over his stomach, his hips, until finally Zhao settles between Zuko’s legs, shoots him a heady look before he licks a stripe up the side of his dick.

Receiving head is simultaneously the best and worst thing in the world during heat. Zuko’s more sensitive than he was before, the pleasure of the hot warmth surrounding him magnified considerably. But it’s not entirely what he wants; he squirms under Zhao’s attention, subtly tilting his hips and hoping that soon the hand gripping his ass will move inward. He wants Zhao to - well, fuck him, really, but if that’s not an option yet, then he wants to be fingered at the very least. 

It goes on like this, Zuko refusing to voice what he wants, all the while growing more tortured by the things Zhao’s mouth is doing. Finally, Zhao stops the onslaught, pulls his lips off the younger man’s cock and delivers another order: “Turn around.” 

_ Finally _ , Zuko thinks. He lays on his stomach and tips his ass upward, practically trembling with frustration when Zhao’s thumbs spread his cheeks apart. Zuko is fully expecting Zhao’s cock to line up with his entrance, but when something wet and flexible runs along his crack instead, he lets out a noise like a wounded animal.

“Wait,” he says, the word wrenched out of him by surprise, but Zhao dives in with vigor, tongue swirling around Zuko’s rim, teasing into the already wet and pliable entrance to loosen it further. 

Zuko can’t control the sounds Zhao is pulling out of him, doesn’t have the mental faculties to do more than hone in on the deep, sensual ache building inside him. His cock is trapped against the sheets, and he grinds his hips in tight circles to increase the friction to it, unconsciously matching the rhythm of Zhao’s swirling tongue. 

The way Zhao’s tongue moves inside him makes his thighs quake, and when Zuko’s finally penetrated by two fingers, they sink into the wet heat entirely without resistance. The hand not actively fucking Zuko takes residence in his hair, twists with a painless but firm grip that holds him face-down into the pillows. Zuko twists his face to the side, partially to catch his breath, partially because his hair is trapped between Zhao’s fingers, and he knows that to move will pull in a way that hurts. He bites his lip against a moan when he succeeds, can’t tell if he’s imagining the way Zhao’s fingers clench a little tighter.

The rough pad of a finger brushes against his prostate, and that is, embarrassingly, all it takes; Zuko gives a choked-off cry and comes, wetness spreading where his cock is trapped up against the sheets. It is the single most powerful orgasm of his life, and still he has no doubt in his mind that the tingling satisfaction that spreads throughout his limbs will grow hungry and needy in a matter of minutes as the endless onslaught of his heat continues.

The hand in his hair disappears, and he’s able to roll onto his side, out of the damp spot. Zhao lies beside him with his head in his hand, watching him with a grown-up sort of amusement.

“...Thank you,” Zuko says, because he’s not really sure what else to say. 

The corners of Zhao’s mouth ripple. “You’re very welcome.”

Zuko hesitates, eyes flitting up and down Zhao’s body. “Do you want me to… do something for you? So it’s equal?”

Zhao looks like he’s struggling not to outright laugh. “Not at this particular juncture. I’m just trying to make sure you’re entertained until I can properly take care of you again.”

Zuko bites his lip. “So you don’t want me to… suck you off.”

It feels like something out of fiction when he sees Zhao’s pupils blow out; he didn’t think you could actually observe that on someone in real time, except when the lighting changes. When Zhao’s composed himself enough to respond, he says, “As thrilled as I am by the prospect, you really shouldn’t try it while I’m in rut. Not for your first time. You’ll choke.”

It takes Zuko a moment to understand what he’s talking about. Then the answer comes to him with one clinical line, as if pulled from a textbook:  _ During rut, an alpha produces five times the usual amount of semen _ . Even in normal circumstances, swallowing seems a little repulsive to him, and the thought of there being  _ more _ to choke down…

“Do you  _ enjoy _ doing that?” Zuko blurts. He only realizes how childish that sounds after it’s out of his mouth, and he curses himself for not holding back; heat has made him less careful. The image he’s worked so hard to build of himself as elegant and adult is being torn down as easily as wet parchment.

The look on Zhao’s face is downright evil. “Are you asking me if I enjoy sucking your cock? I didn’t realize you wanted me to talk dirty to you.”

Zuko goes vermillion. “I  _ don’t-” _

Despite the protests, Zhao reaches over and pulls Zuko towards him so that they’re pressed chest-to-chest. Breath hot on Zuko’s ear, he rasps, “I  _ love _ the weight of your cock on my tongue. The sounds I’m able to pull from you with just one lick…” Zuko releases a sound of distress, and Zhao chuckles. “Just like that.”

“Stop,” Zuko mumbles, hiding his face in the crook of Zhao’s neck. He can’t tell if he feels a thousand degrees because he’s mortified or because he’s turned on. Probably a little bit of both.

To his relief, Zhao obeys, although not without one last, infuriating chuckle in his ear. When his grip lets up enough that Zuko can pull back and look at him, there’s a different question lingering in his mind, prompted by this “discussion” they’re having. He’s not sure if it’s rude to ask, or if it’ll just earn him more teasing, but if Zhao’s literally had his tongue inside him, Zuko’s fairly certain he’s allowed to ask a few personal questions.

“So if you’re fine doing… that. Does that mean you’re generally... fine with male omegas?”

Zhao pulls a face, and the question now feels stupid, so Zuko stumbles a bit through the next part. “I just mean to say, I’ve always  _ heard _ that it’s better to have a female omega, and I just wanted to check that you’re fine with our arrangement, because I just don’t want you to feel-” God, he really shouldn’t say it, but is there another word? “-trapped.”

“What? No, stop.” Zhao outright scowls as he sits up. “Look - I understand that some people may view male omegas as a last resort, but I’m not going to turn my nose up at the offspring of the Fire Lord out of some idiotic sense of superiority.”

Ah, yes. The true catalyst for this marriage. The Fire Lord wanted this union to happen, and so it did. “Alright, so if I had an omega sister of marrying age, what would you do?”

“I’d still pick  _ you _ ,” Zhao insists. “I prefer men.”

“Really?” Zuko presses, less out of obstinance, now, and more because it’s just such a novel idea to him. “Even when you compare all the female omegas you’ve been with to all the males…”

Zhao laughs. “There weren’t any women. Like I said, I  _ genuinely  _ prefer men.”

Zuko doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he just doesn’t say anything. All his life, he’s been told that male omegas are less desirable in countless ways - that they’re less fertile, less obedient, that they’re ungainly, graceless creatures that simply can’t match the natural beauty of a female omega. In a pinch, they will do, but male omegas are not the  _ ideal _ choice for a mate. Thus every compliment bestowed on Zuko by a member of the royal court has come with the unspoken caveat: Pretty, for a boy. Graceful, all things considered. Zuko isn’t blind or stupid; he knows he’s attractive, but he takes for granted the fact that he’ll always be considered second best.

Or at least, he did, until he was reunited with Zhao. The same Zhao who can barely keep his hands to himself, who can’t wait just two days before making his move, who kisses Zuko with tongue when anyone could just walk in on them and can’t wait until he wakes up to -

It’s been a source of frustration, to have his boundaries pushed. But even at its most stressful, it’s also been… sort of flattering. Zuko has received plenty of tepid compliments on his looks, but only Zhao treats him as if he’s irresistible. 

“...Wait.” Zuko has taken a moment to turn Zhao’s words over in his mind, and realizes something’s off about what he said a few moments ago. “You prefer male omegas, or men in general?” Mai’s face flashes in his mind’s eye. It was a kiss stolen before either of them had presented, but still. He’s wondered all this time if what he felt for her was normal, or just confused kids’ stuff. And so he asks, “Would you be with another alpha?”

“God, no,” Zhao scoffs. “I’m not a degenerate.” Then a pause. “...But, I mean. A beta.” He seems to interpret Zuko’s look as an incredulous one, and rushes to defend himself. “It’s mostly the same as what we’re doing. There’s just no natural lubrication, so you need oil. And a little bit more patience.”

Zuko nods dazedly. He’s just remembered how much older Zhao is than him. He’d almost forgotten, considering the fact he seems to be the sole wielder of self control between the two of them. But Zhao has lived longer and has a lot more sexual experience. It reminds Zuko of the act of sparring during a bending lesson; he may find himself in a rhythm, even get the upper hand on his uncle. But then in a moment, his feet are swept out from underneath him, and he remembers,  _ He’s more experienced than I can even begin to match. _

A hand lands on his cheek, tilts his face so that their eyes meet. “What’s with all the questions? Are you doubting my loyalty to you?”

Zuko frowns. “No. I just want to know what sort of things you like.”

There is that uneven grin, visible teeth glinting like a predator’s caught in moonlight. “Well,” Zhao says. “I can show you that.” 

And before he can say another word, Zhao has him flat on his back again, teeth at his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic warnings/tags updated, will continue to be updated as chapters are added


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zhao makes his case to the war council for an invasion of the Northern Water Tribe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk what it is about this chapter, but it's one of my favorites i've written so far

The days that followed bled together in a haze of sex and the few necessities that interrupted it. Because they couldn’t just sit around in awkward silence when they weren’t doing either of those things, Zhao and Zuko did a great deal of talking. It was a courtship conducted completely out of order. 

Despite Mai’s earlier teasing, Zhao wasn’t put off by Zuko’s Avatar obsession - on the contrary, he was fascinated by it, to the point where it comprised the bulk of their conversations. Zuko relished the chance to tell someone about his findings. Because he was known to tip a gold piece or two for new information, his interest was wildly known, and it’d become something of a game for the household servants and guards to see who could bring him little tidbits about the Avatar first. But Zhao didn’t just see his interest as a quirk: he was engaging with Zuko on a deeper intellectual level that no one else had, save for Iroh. Zhao seemed to really want to  _ know _ Zuko’s theories and  _ why _ he’d formed them. Sometimes Zuko would look up in the middle of a monologue to see how intently his husband was listening, brow furrowed in concentration, golden eyes fixed on his face, and every overheated cell in his body would scream at him to grab that man by the shoulders and just-

The funny thing about being in heat as that he did just that, and the funny thing about being in rut meant that half the time Zhao didn’t really care about their conversation being interrupted midway through for sex, and the other half of the time he was the one interrupting Zuko. It felt like the beginning of something special, and Zuko found himself flooded with relief and hope for the future.

Until one morning, about three days in, he woke up alone. 

It was an inconvenience, to be sure, but not the end of the world. There were any number of reasons Zhao had stepped out - food, hygiene, what have you, so Zuko waited, and in the meantime tried to ignore how even innocuous sensations like the sheets sliding over his skin felt unbearably erotic. 

Half an hour passed, and Zhao was still nowhere to be seen. Zuko had started tapping on his thigh just as something to do with his hands, but with his fingers so,  _ so _ close to the source of that full-body desire, he found his attentions straying from the frustration itself to how easy it would be to soothe it. 

He thought,  _ Just a little, just until he gets back _ , and let his hands stray.

By the time Zhao walked in, Zuko had spread himself open with three fingers and was fucking himself to the knuckle. 

Zhao stood on the threshold and looked at him with the dark-eyed desire of a predator watching its prey fall prone. He crossed the room with hungry strides and, once at the bed, he grabbed one of Zuko’s thighs in each hand and dragged him to the edge of the mattress, bringing the two of them flush together, so Zuko could feel Zhao’s clothed erection straining against his ass. 

What ensued was easily the best sex of Zuko’s short life. He would undoubtedly look back on it fondly when Zhao was out to sea.

Considering the fact that they were otherwise occupied, they didn’t really end up discussing what it was that had kept Zhao away for so long. Zuko would regret this fact when Zhao disappeared later that same day, this time for a stretch of  _ three hours _ . 

_ That _ little masturbatory session did not end with a well-timed fuck, so by the time Zhao finally returned, Zuko was lacking the self control not to shout the question, “Where have you  _ been? _ ”

Zhao’s responding smile was not kind. “I told you already.”

For a moment, Zuko was afraid he’d entirely forgotten that they’d already talked that morning, but try as he might, his memory came up blank. “When?”

Funny; the way Zhao stalked across the room to the bed wasn’t all that different from the way he had just that morning. But this time, in place of the hot, predatory gaze, he was watching Zuko with a coldness that could frost the room over. When he’d closed the space between them and his fingers wrapped tightly around Zuko’s ankle, the young prince shuddered in his grasp. 

His words were mocking, with just enough of a bladed edge to keep Zuko flinching away. “I seem to remember you got yourself into a little panic the other night, insisting you hadn’t had so much to drink that you could have forgotten what happened. You started accusing me of all  _ kinds _ of things. But now you can’t even remember something  _ extremely important  _ that I told you, so I’m not so sure we can trust your account of how it all went that night, hm?”

Something important Zhao had said the night of their wedding.  _ Now _ Zuko could place it, but the words were caught in his throat. He felt terribly small under Zhao’s glare, unsure if he was allowed to talk or not. 

“The war council meeting,” Zuko eventually said, in a quiet voice. “You’re getting prepared.”

“Good, you remembered,” Zhao praised, voice dripping with condescension. “Here I was getting worried about your selective memory.” 

Maybe the pause had made it worse; maybe all the time it’d taken Zuko to answer made him seem stupid. He found his resolve crumbling and said, “I’m sorry,” before he’d even had a moment to consider what he was even apologizing for. It just slipped out of him, as easily as it might with Ozai. 

The grip around his ankle relaxed. “It’s fine. I’m not thrilled to be disappearing, either, but they weren’t exactly accommodating with the date. Next time, there will be no interruptions.”

The mythical  _ next time _ . It could be three months from now, or it could be three years from now.

Zhao sat down on the bed. To cover for his earlier hesitation, Zuko immediately reached out for him and held him close. Hopefully Zhao couldn’t feel how quickly his heart was still beating in his chest.

* * *

Zhao wasn’t the type to let anyone get in the way of what he wanted. He would frame this as a strength of his, but really, it came down to a lack of self-control. 

Zhao was entitled. In his twenty-eight years of life, he’d been refused very little, and in the rare cases where the person saying “no” stood their ground against him, he usually had the status or the brute strength to get his way regardless. But the current problem wasn’t one that could be resolved by screaming at someone or burning something down. Instead, the issue came down to the fact that Zhao was being forced to choose between two things he really, really wanted.

The first thing was a chance at glory, to make a name for himself in Fire Nation history. Admiral Zhao (title pending) could become synonymous with the defeat of waterbenders across the globe. All he had to do was focus for long enough, put together a viable argument to convince the war council, and he would be leading the Fire Nation to victory in no time.

The second thing was sex. Lots and lots of sex.

In the battle between the base desires of ego vs. libido, ego eventually won out. But he  _ did _ drag his feet. He didn’t need an entire week to prepare for one little meeting, and besides, he kind of  _ had _ to address the Avatar-specific stuff with Zuko present. And so they did address it - they addressed it in bed, against two different walls, on the floor, and once on a foldable table a servant forgot they left in the room after serving lunch. 

But then Zhao had finally slipped away to start compiling his arguments, and he realized he was sorely lacking in resources. All his Water Tribe scrolls were at the estate in Kirachu - or at least, he thought they still were. He could recall a lot of the detail from memory, having pored over them many times, but would that be enough? If he risked a day trip home, could he get in and out fast enough to avoid questions from his family? 

Worse yet, it seemed he was underestimating the might of a cold shower when pitted against a full-blown rut. He was struggling to concentrate on his work, and even tried leaving in the middle to “check on” Zuko and see if that released some of his frustration. If anything, it just made everything worse. That cloying smell of an omega in heat clung to his clothes for hours afterwards, and, bereft of an outlet for his desires, he found himself stopping in the middle of writing a sentence just to tear off his shirt and throw it across the room.

All of this is to say that, while Zhao desperately wanted something else to blame, someone else he could square up to and gnash his teeth at, the only person standing in the way of what Zhao wanted was… Zhao. And he put up a fairly formidable fight.

Then the kid had the  _ nerve _ to whine about his absence. Didn’t he understand everything that was on the line? The  _ sacrifice _ Zhao was making? He could’ve wrung Zuko’s neck if it wasn’t the primary object of his fantasies. Luckily he was as easy to handle as Ozai had intimated: all it took was a few words and a firm hand to show he wasn’t playing around, and the kid was simpering with apologies. In the sex that followed, Zhao’s temper had cooled down enough that his only spiteful act was to yank a little harder at Zuko’s hair than he had before, but he swore the ensuing moan was more masochistic than genuinely hurt. Something to explore in more depth if Zuko was still in heat by the time this war council was over and done with.

...God.  _ Fuck _ Ozai and the rest of the war council for insisting they do this meeting this week. Heat was a prime time to test an omega’s limits, to encourage them to try all kinds of things they might be wary of when not brimming with fuck-me pheromones. Zhao was missing out on the chance to really train Zuko the way he wanted. 

But he couldn’t dwell on the unfairness of it all. In fact, if he was going to be able to focus, he was going to need to remove himself from temptation’s influence. The prospect made him want to burn the Lesser Hall to ashes, but there was little he could do to change his reality short of throwing a tantrum at the Fire Lord. 

And so, for the sake of his future siege on the Northern Water Tribe, Zhao had to quarantine.

* * *

The morning after he’d pulled his disappearing act, Zhao told Zuko he was going to be gone for the next three days. It had something to do with the war council preparations, of course; Zuko supposed he should give Zhao credit for being more transparent this time, but it didn’t make him any happier about the prospect of having to weather his heat alone.

“Where will you be?” Zuko asked. 

Zhao seemed about to answer, but stopped himself. “Away, somewhere I can concentrate.”

For the record, Zuko was  _ not _ pouting. “You don’t have to be so secretive about it.” 

“I do, or you might follow me, and that kind of defeats the purpose.” Then, in response to whatever foul mood appeared on Zuko’s face, “I don’t blame you, of course, but you’re raging with hormones right now. I can’t trust you not to come distract me.”

Right, hormones. Because Zhao was strong-willed enough to sit in a room and resist  _ his _ , but  _ Zuko _ would go chasing him across the palace for a taste. Zuko suppressed the urge to clamber onto the opposite side of the bed, away from Zhao, and sulk.

“You’ll come back if you wrap up early, won’t you?” Zuko asked. “You could practice what you want to say on me, if you like.” He stopped himself from adding,  _ Please? _

Zhao grimaced. “Here’s the thing: we  _ reek _ of each other, and there’s no way they’ll listen to a word I have to say if I show up like this. I think it’d be best if I just don’t return until it’s completely over with.”

Zuko frowned. “Can’t you just take a bath beforehand?”

“I’m in the middle of rut.”

“A cold bath?” Zuko amended.

Zhao’s lips quirked. Thankfully, he seemed more amused by Zuko’s suggestion than annoyed. “I know it might seem like a power move, but I don’t want to walk into my first war council smelling like I’ve been fucking the Fire Lord’s son. I need to start detoxing as soon as possible.”

Detoxing. Like Zuko was a poisonous mushroom Zhao had eaten while stranded in the wilderness. Even as he was trying to appear as a paragon of patience and understanding, there was a childish voice deep inside him that could not abide by how  _ unfair _ it all was.

“I know it’s not the ideal,” said Zhao, “but I wouldn’t have to impose such strict measures if I could remotely trust myself around you, either.” His voice had gone low and throaty, and he’d been about to top it off with a hand smoothing over Zuko’s shoulder, but the moment he made contact, he recoiled as if burnt. Right; touching was probably not a great idea if they were trying to resist each other right now.

“It’s fine,” Zuko sighed. “I know this is important to you. There’s always…”

Next time. Presuming Zhao didn’t get sent overseas on some mission, or Zuko didn’t get pregnant and miss his next heat. They awkwardly avoided each other’s eyes.

“I promise this will be worth it,” said Zhao. “It only seems like the end of the world because we’re not thinking with our heads. We’ll be laughing at ourselves a week from now.”

Zuko nodded stiffly. He was right, of course. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t gone through heat alone before. It just didn’t make it any easier.

“...You still haven’t told me what this mysterious meeting is all about.”

“I’ll tell you when it’s over,” promised Zhao. “If I say it out loud even a moment before, I feel like I’ll completely lose my nerve.”

* * *

There is a library in the Great Hall, and Zhao all but sets up camp there. The information available is, of course, biased; he isn’t sitting in Wan Shi Tong, but in the heart of the Fire Nation. He’s not going to find any texts on life in either Water Tribe, and even the details of previous attempts at a northern siege are limited out of a sense of propriety. But he will have to make due with what’s here. He scribbles down a few topics from memory and charges the most literate-looking palace servant he can find with hunting down some more texts for him in the city. It would be easier to find them himself, but even after scrubbing himself raw, he knows he’s surrounded by a miasma of pheromones, and he’s not desperate enough to cause a scene in public just yet.

For the most part, his work continues uninterrupted. He finds some material on past successful invasions that proves surprisingly relevant, and clings to this while he drafts the siege on land. Army isn’t his strong suit, but he’s worked out the schematics of the naval assault and needs to focus on the glaring holes in his arguments. He has no idea if he’s under-preparing or over-preparing; no one ever bothered to give him more details than the time and place of the meeting, so he prepares for the worst.

The only incident of note in the library is when he bumps into the crown princess and her uncle. He’d turned the corner past a shelf of military histories and been surprised to find them both hanging around, not far from his haphazard encampment of scrolls and notes. 

Azula seemed to lash him with her eyes, taking in his dishevelment with cruel glee. “What brings you here, commander? I thought you had business in the Lesser Hall.”

Zhao responded with what he hoped wasn’t a wince. “Your father’s graciously given me the opportunity to persuade him of something I’ve been working on for a while, so Zuko and I are taking a bit of a rain check.” At this, Iroh’s brow furrowed, no doubt disapproving of him. 

“I didn’t know you could rain check a fixed biological cycle.” Azula pointedly sniffed the air, cringed. “Are you really going to present yourself to the Fire Lord smelling like  _ that? _ ”

Zhao suppressed a scowl. “I was told our meeting couldn’t be rescheduled, so I’m just doing my best to finish my work in isolation, in the hopes I can make myself presentable by Friday.”

That at least elicited some sympathy from Iroh; he tutted to himself, saying something under his breath that sounded like, “Ozai, for  _ spirits’ sake, _ ” and then addressed Zhao. “Young man, I don’t think I can entirely solve your problem, but there are ways to mask your scent, at least. If you’d like, I can get something for you.”

“Aren’t you forgetting,  _ uncle? _ ” Despite the cheery smile, there was a clear threat in Azula’s voice. “Scent-blockers are prohibited under Fire Nation law.”

Iroh didn’t seem remotely abashed. “I’m sure we can work something out where no one gets into any trouble.”

In other words,  _ We’re royalty, why would we worry about the rules?  _ Azula openly scowled at her uncle, and if Zhao weren’t so relieved, he’d wonder what the hell her hostility towards him was all about. 

“Only if it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” Zhao said, internally screaming with relief. “Although I do think my rut’s gotten less noticeable, so if you don’t have the time…”

“You’re wrong. It’s extremely noticeable,” Iroh said, bluntly. “I’ll prepare a balm and bring it here when it’s ready - I assume you’ll still be in the library later?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” 

Mercifully, they left him alone after that. A servant dropped off the balm Iroh prepared later in the afternoon. Once it’s in his hands, Zhao remembers Ozai’s warning about Iroh, and is struck with a fervent paranoia; what if this stuff makes him break out in hives, or dyes his skin a weird color? He opens the container, sniffs it, stares hard into the substance, but it just looks like green goop. A scroll that has come along with the package explains that he’s supposed to put it on his neck, wrists, and elbows. He does, fully prepared for the worst, but late into the night, when he’s wrapping up his work, he realizes nothing bad has happened. Not only has it been suppressing the scent of his rut, but it may have been easier to concentrate because of it. 

* * *

The anteroom where Zhao sits has dragons painted on the walls. They curl around clouds and mountains, faces bewildered, jaws sagging and eyes bulging. They do not intimidate, but imitate all the anxious visitors who come to wait here. Sitting just across from one red behemoth with smoke rolling out of its mouth, Zhao is besieged by doubts.

Maybe Zuko doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s just a teenage omega. What does he know about anything, much less the Avatar? 

And his crazy uncle. Is that man sabotaging Zhao with this balm, after all? Maybe it’s a slow-acting poison. Is  _ that _ why he’s breathing like he just ran a mile? 

Worse yet. What if the problem isn’t Zuko or Iroh - what if it’s  _ Zhao _ ? What if he has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about, and a siege on the northern water tribe would be a damning waste of resources that finally turns the tides of a hundred year war away from a Fire Nation victory?

He’s called into the throne room. He stands, watches the floor pulsate like the ocean’s surface for a moment before he’s able to walk where he’s directed. There is the flaming dais, the Fire Lord shrouded in a fiery inferno behind it. On the level below the throne is a long, dark table, and seated there are several interchangeable old men with long beards and uniforms. Their eyes are fixed on Zhao.

Their eyes are fixed on  Zhao . He feels himself swell with the familiar confidence that rushes into him whenever he’s the center of attention, whether that is at the bow of a ship or on a pulpit in front of a crowd. There is power in the fact that they must give him their full focus, and so he greets them with a confident smirk that doesn’t falter in the slightest, holds himself high, and dives right into his presentation.

* * *

“I see how, considering your place in our naval ranks, you’ve worked out the assault by sea. But how do you plan to transport ground forces for this campaign?” Ozai asks.

“I  _ knew _ your discerning eye would pick up on that detail, my lord,” says Zhao, smothering his irritation. Ozai  clearly thinks he’s an idiot, but never mind; he’ll show him just how thoroughly he’s prepared for this. “Tundra tanks will do, but they’ll need to be modified. I’m not an engineer, so I can’t speak to the specifics, but I was thinking that we should be leaning more towards the designs used to seize the Northern Air Temple than the ones used in the South Pole.”

“You think we should go with a technological design that is nearly eighty years old?” Even while he’s invisible behind a wall of flame, Zhao can hear the imperious eyebrow being raised.

“Not  precisely . Again, I’m not familiar with the specifics, but the older models were outfitted in such a way they were better for ascending mountainous terrain, given the Northern Air Temple’s location. The ones in the South Pole were pared down because, while icy, the terrain was flatter; we instead focused on saving money for parts, since, you know, no reason to go bankrupt over the South when it’s easier to traverse. The North has considerably more fortresses,  _ essentially _ mountain-like terrain, so it just seems like some adjustments are needed to the usual tundra tanks…”

“That’s a fascinating insight.” War Minister Qin leans in with hands folded. It is his job to sort out the technological advances of war, so the moment he shows interest, Zhao is enormously relieved. If the guy with the engineering expertise is willing to co-sign it, then he can’t have fucked up this argument too badly.

As the meeting goes on, Zhao valiantly fights off a barrage of questions. He’s prepared for most of them, but here and there he has to make something up, or find a delicate way of deferring the answer to men who are experts on that sort of thing.

Of all the subjects Zhao covers, however, none captivate his crowd as thoroughly as the Avatar. Many of the questions he fields aren’t terribly related to capturing or crushing him, although there’s plenty of that; mostly, save for Ozai, these men just seem interested in knowing more about the kid. Can he actually fly through the air? What sort of combat challenges will that introduce? Has he shown any prowess for the other elements, yet? 

And finally… is he  _ real? _ Could it not simply be a rebellion hoax? Zhao is relieved how deeply he covered this topic with Zuko, because the discussion gets derailed numerous times. Although each of the council members are hardened military veterans, there is a boyish twinkle in their eyes when Zhao is able to tell them that, actually, sky bisons can fly upwards of 108 kilometers per hour, which is how the Avatar is getting around so quickly.

“This is  not a symposium on spiritual hogwash,” Ozai cries out, when they’ve gotten particularly off-track. “You will take care not to ask any more distracting questions until after Zhao has finished his main argument.” And, thoroughly chastised, the war council members get back to the matter at hand.

Zhao ends up talking for two hours straight. By the end of it, his voice is shot, but a servant, some beta, brings a glass of water around for him while he waits outside. He can’t be privy to the war council’s vote until after they’ve deliberated in privacy. 

Once he’s back inside the throne room, War Minister Qin wastes no time. “We have agreed that you make a compelling case on why we should invade the Northern Water Tribe. That’s why we have approved the motion to go forward with this siege.”

Zhao feels a thousand feet tall. He bows low and says, “Thank you all for granting me your attention; our esteemed Fire Lord, especially.”

When he straightens up again, Qin continues, “And we thank you for bringing this idea to us. We are happy to take things from here.”

Zhao pauses, casts a glance across the room. “...Actually, gentlemen, I think it’d be best if I remained a part of this project.”

Admiral Sung chuckles. “With all-due respect, boy, we’re going to need someone a little higher than a commander to drive this invasion forward.”

“With all-due respect, sir, I am your prince, and I won’t be addressed as  _ boy _ .” Zhao’s expression slides into a scowl. “I am not asking to invade the Northern Water Tribe alone. I think in my argument I made it perfectly clear that we’ll need a formidable army to break down their defenses. But I am not going to be pushed aside so some senior officer can take credit for my work.”

Admiral Sung grits his teeth. “I apologize for my less than satisfactory means of address, my  _ prince _ . But I still think my point stands. This siege needs the leadership of someone with longstanding experience in the navy.”

Zhao doesn’t acknowledge the apology. He is looking directly into the flames over the dais, waiting for Ozai to make a declaration.

Ozai deliberates. “If you are to take this campaign over, Zhao, you would need to be able to balance planning with the war council, here in the capital, and your obligations to Kirachu.”

“Funny you should mention that,” says Zhao, “because I’ve actually been thinking it might be beneficial to have a representative of Kirachu who’s located in the capital on a more permanent basis.”

Is the pause that follows shocked in a good way, or a bad way? Zhao resists the temptation to look around at the faces of the war council members for a hint, gaze steadily trained on the flaming throne.

“...Can you elaborate?” Ozai asks. “Because the obvious argument would be that you remain on your home island to better understand what sort of governance it needs.”

“I understand, my lord,” says Zhao. “It’s just that I’ve heard about the egregious stress Governor Darah has put you under, lately, and it seems to me it’d be better if, instead of allowing him to further waste your time or fumble the management of my home island, we just divided the labor. Darah can tend to things on Kirachu, and I can be here to place our vote for any relevant internal affairs.”

“You have discussed this with Darah?”

“If you were to agree to this plan, I’d be more than happy to fill him in. We  clearly need Governor Darah back home to deal with some of the issues we’re facing, and I worry that his insistence on dividing his attention has just exacerbated the problem. But if you were to  _ decree _ that he focus on Kirachu...”

Zhao holds his breath while Ozai deliberates.

“Very well,” comes the affirmation. “I am loath to discourage someone in my line of succession from acting in the manner befitting a true leader. You can remain in the capital as ambassador to Kirachu and maintain your influence on the northern campaign. We will reconvene shortly to start coordinating efforts for the invasion.”

* * *

_ I’ve won _ . 

The thought comes with a warm glow of pride that swells like a furnace in Zhao’s chest. He’s got what he wanted: there will be a northern siege, he gets to  _ stay  _ involved in the northern siege, and he doesn’t have to go back to Kirachu just yet. 

Although Iroh’s remedy has done the trick of damping his scent, and his rut has mostly faded, there is still that nagging desire in the back of his mind, exacerbated now by the possibility of celebration. Filing out of the throne room, he’s ready to skip - no -  _ sprint _ back to the Lesser Hall, but the war council members, excluding Admiral Sung, stop him to thank him for his time and effort; War Minister Qin, in particular, gives him a warm welcome to the royal court, and Zhao realizes that he’s probably gained his first ally.

It’s as Qin is taking his leave that the enormous double doors open again. Ozai enters the hall, gaze steely as usual, looking rather small and human now that Zhao’s spent the past few hours with the burning specter he likes to play in the throne room. 

“I meant to ask you, Zhao; now that you’ll be staying in the capital for the foreseeable future, where do you plan on living?”

The question makes him apprehensive. “I was planning to stay in the Lesser Hall, my liege.”

Ozai’s expression is unreadable. “Typically it is the omega who goes to live with their alpha or their alpha’s family. I cannot think of very many examples where it has been the other way around.”

“You are right about that, sir,” Zhao says, struggling to keep his voice light, “but then again, most omegas don’t have a whole palace on hand, and if I’ll be working daily with the war council, anyway, it makes the most sense to stay nearby.”

If Ozai wants Zhao and Zuko to move out of the palace, he is going to have to just say it. Zhao prays,  _ prays _ this isn’t the last-second catch to today’s victory, that he won’t have to spend the next few days scrambling to find a place to live in the capital.

Ozai’s stare goes on a tick too long. But then he nods. “If you’re comfortable having my brother breathing down your neck for the rest of your marriage, then by all means. He was kind enough to give you space this past week, milling about the Great Hall to instead bother myself and my daughter, but I cannot promise you will always have such luck with your privacy.”

If not for Iroh’s favor, Zhao’s campaign might not have gotten this far at all; he’d have been lucky to even make it inside the throne room. So while Zhao is not super thrilled to share a living space with Zuko’s doting uncle, he also isn’t about to start demonizing the guy. 

In any case, Ozai clearly has some brother issues to work out. To placate him, Zhao just smiles and says, “It beats having to move back in with  _ my _ family.”

* * *

Zhao spends most of the jog back to the Lesser Hall trying to block out what’s waiting for him there. Every time he tries to picture telling Zuko the news, things get just a  _ little _ off-track, and he’s not going to be caught sprinting across the palace lawn with a hard-on. He’s been so singularly focused on this war council for the last twelve hours, but now that he’s out of the woods, he finds his libido dutifully reminding him of the fact he’s left a virgin-tight omega alone for three days. 

Spirits, what is he about to walk into? Last time he’d only left Zuko alone for a few hours, but when Zhao had returned, he’d found the young prince flat on his back and two fingers shy of fisting himself. Zhao can remember every detail of that moment: the sheer wall of pheromones that hit him when he entered the room. The way Zuko’s skin had flushed pink and his eyes had glazed over, pupils gigantic enough that they practically eclipsed his irises. How the muscles of his abdomen seized with building arousal. 

When the young prince had finally seen his husband in the doorway, there was the barest flicker of recognition. Zhao had worried the young omega would stop what he was doing, but instead of freezing up with fear, Zuko had bitten his lip, and pulled his fingers free... only to then spread himself open, so Zhao could see the way his hole had swollen pink from repeated attention, was painted with the wet shine of lubrication. His feet slid over the sheets, legs splaying invitingly so Zhao could also see the erect cock, precum dripping from its head -

Even under the duress of heat, Zuko had fought to maintain a certain level of composure around Zhao. Not that the sex wasn’t still enjoyable; but  in this particular instance Zhao had been delighted to see his usually demure mate begging, with his entire  _ body _ , for Zhao to fuck him senseless. Zhao had almost taunted him,  _ Not so superior now, are you, highness? _ but held his tongue to avoid breaking the spell. Instead he’d grabbed those thighs hard enough to bruise and driven into that tight heat over and over again while Zuko let out a chorus of sounds that would make even the most experienced whore blush. 

Back in the present, Zhao arrives at Zuko’s door and doesn’t knock, throwing it open in the hopes of catching his mate in some salacious act. 

But the room is empty. He frowns, momentarily wondering if he somehow opened the wrong door: the floors and windows are shining. The bed is made, covers folded tightly. It’s as if this is but a rarely used guest room. Yet there, in the corner, is the haphazard shrine to the Avatar. Just as he notices this, Zhao detects, beneath the fresh scent, the barest hints of ash and jasmine.

He’s in the right place, but it’s too late. Zuko’s heat is surely over. Zhao still needs to talk to him, though, so he sits on the edge of the bed and waits, trying to fix his face into something other than a pout.

It isn’t very long. When the door opens again, Zuko stands, skin flushed enough to momentarily get Zhao’s hopes up; but his scent has receded. His hair’s wet, combed back from his face, and his shoulders are shiny from the water dripping from the ends. The towel wrapped around his waist leaves little to the imagination; Zhao can see the bare chest, lean muscle shining with bath water, nipples erect from the chill of the open air… Heat or not, Zhao still finds himself drawn in.

Surprise registers on Zuko’s face. “You’re back - how did it go?”

Zhao forces himself to stop ogling Zuko’s naked chest and actually meet his eye. “It went well. Better than well. I have a lot to tell you.”

As if pulled by some magnetic force, he rises and approaches Zuko, settling his hands carefully on his waist; no higher, no lower. Zuko hesitates from his touch, keeping his face impassive while his eyes roam over Zhao, doubtlessly looking for clues as to what he’s about to share. 

“Your scent is strange,” Zuko says, suddenly. “Like it’s… muffled.”

Right. The balm. “I’ll explain that later,” Zhao promises, but then he finds himself at a loss for words; if he isn’t going to start with that, then where should he begin? Staring into those honey-colored eyes, all he can really think about right now is Zuko. So he says, “I’m staying here, with you. In Caldera.”

Zhao watches the transformation in Zuko’s face, from impassivity to open wonder, and feels something unnamable twist in his stomach. “I proposed that we invade the Northern Water Tribe. So I can’t promise that I’ll be here forever, but it’ll take a few months for me to work out the specifics of the invasion with the war council.”

“Congratulations.” Zuko’s smile is warm. “You wrote me once that it would take someone with unprecedented skill to conquer the north. I should’ve known it would be you.”

Zhao can’t help but grin back at the memory. That single letter, fished out of the Mon Sai, had been the start of it. He’d been pondering what it’d take to mount an invasion of the Northern Water Tribe for years, but it wasn’t until he held proof of its urgency in his hands that it seemed an attainable goal. 

“It’ll go down in the annals of Fire Nation history,” says Zhao, pride swelling in his chest. 

“How did you convince them?” Zuko asks.

Earlier, Zhao had brushed the kid off when he’d offered to hear his arguments. But now that he’s returned victorious, now that he has something to show for it, he realizes he wants to tell Zuko everything. He wants those eyes to look at him with wonder, for Zuko to approve of his victory. To be impressed by him.

Before he can say another word, it’s like his body, having grown impatient with his quiet, made a completely separate decision; Zhao finds himself leaning towards Zuko, meeting slightly parted lips with his. They kiss openly, with just the slightest hint of tongues and teeth. To his credit, Zuko has learned quickly. His rhythm is nearly perfect.

Zhao hears the door shut, as if Zuko has kicked it closed behind him. Taking this as permission, he slips one hand from Zuko’s waist to squeeze his ass, and feels the soft sound he emits against his tongue.

Alright - so Zuko’s heat is over. That hardly matters when he’s objectively the most beautiful thing Zhao has ever laid his hands on. He yanks the towel away to grope between Zuko’s cheeks, running his fingers over the puckered entrance until the kid is shuddering against him, until the first beads of arousal gather against the pads of his fingers. 

He feels fingers slip into his waistband, and suddenly his lips and hands are no longer on Zuko; instead he watches as the naked prince sinks down to his knees to remove Zhao’s pants. Seeing him there, kneeling on the floor, face flushed and lower lip worried between his teeth, Zhao is convinced Zuko will take him in his mouth; but he avoids eye contact with any part of Zhao’s body, and, when he’s gotten his husband to step out of his clothes, rises back up again to take the hem of his shirt in his hands and pull it over his head. Still a little too timid, then. That’s alright. Even the fact he’s undressing Zhao is progress.

The minute his shirt is pulled free, Zhao’s lips are on Zuko’s again, hands grabbing him by the hips to bring their erections up against one another. Zuko moans into his mouth and grinds against him, the movement of his hips as fluid as a dancer’s. Zhao tilts Zuko’s head back to bite and suck at his neck, relishing in the full-body shudder that comes when he nips along the battered edges of the mating mark.

“It hurts,” Zuko whispers, and Zhao can tell it’s the truth from how it is inflamed and swollen still, purpled at the edges from the force of his bite. He has left his mark on this gorgeous creature, has laid claim in a way that everyone in the Fire Nation will know who he belongs to. The eldest son of the Fire Lord, in whose veins flows the ancient blood of royalty, is  _ Zhao’s _ possession. As if power and beauty weren’t quite enough, Zuko had also handed him the key to his victory. The knowledge needed to capture the Avatar.

Zhao cannot wait; though he hasn’t prepared him all that much, he turns Zuko around, hand on the back of his neck to press him into the bed like he’s subduing a foe in battle, and enters him from behind. Zuko draws in a sharp breath and goes rigid. To compensate, Zhao waits until the heaving breaths become shallower and less frequent, until the muscles of Zuko’s back seem to relax. Then he draws himself out, slowly, watching for blood, slamming in again when there is none. 

They don’t need heat for this, the play between dominance and submission. Not when Zuko so naturally arches under his touch, neglects to struggle under his grasp, as if he knows he belongs there. It’s mesmerizing to watch himself disappear inside Zuko, the way the stretched muscle twitches around him, a steady stream of moans and whimpers released into the bedspread at his every thrust.

He remembers he’s in rut when one particularly savage thrust sends his knot against Zuko’s tightly clenched entrance, and the younger man releases a hiss of pain. Zhao knows he shouldn’t press deeper for fear of hurting the man underneath him - he’s wet, but not with the pervasive arousal of a heat. It simply won’t be enough for him to fit comfortably; yet the temptation is just too great. He leans forward, tongue running over the shell of Zuko’s ear, catching the scent of some floral shampoo clinging to his hair. They are flush, chest to back, legs bracketed, and in this closeness he fucks Zuko with slow, gentle undulations of the hips. 

Zhao works his hand underneath their bodies to take Zuko’s erection in hand, but finds slim fingers already wrapped around it, pulling desperately. He slots his hand around Zuko’s and they finish him off together, semen spilling over their fists, the impact of the younger man’s orgasm making him clench hard enough around Zhao’s cock that he almost isn’t able to push himself all the way inside before his own orgasm follows suit. 

As they lay panting, still pressed back to chest, Zhao stares into the half of Zuko’s face not hidden in the covers. Red from effort, half-dried strands of hair clinging to it, yet still inordinately composed. A single golden eye opens, looking up at Zhao with that blissful, post-orgasmic satisfaction, and almost without thinking, Zhao says, “Do you realize that you’re the best thing to ever happen to me?”

And Zuko balks from this compliment, as he is wont to do, eyes belaying his feelings even as he keeps his mouth taught as a bowstring. “Is that the endorphins talking? You didn’t say anything the last dozen times we did this.”

“I mean it,” Zhao insists. “I’m lucky to have met you.” He pushes away Zuko’s hair to kiss his neck and shoulders. Zuko sits up on his elbows, face no longer angled so Zhao can see it, and remains still under his ministrations. 

“Say something,” Zhao urges, suddenly afraid he’s said too much too quickly.

“...I don’t know what to say,” Zuko admits. “Will you laugh at me again for saying thank you?”

Zhao ponders this, then decides, “No,” and punctuates this with a kiss to his ear. “But you don’t seem to believe me.”

“It’s not you. It’s just hard to believe anyone would be lucky to meet me.” It reminds him of the day they met, of the solemn teenager who couldn’t believe anyone would ever take pleasure from knowing his feelings. 

“I’m deathly serious,” says Zhao. “You were pivotal to my victory. It would’ve taken me years to accomplish this without you.”

Zuko looks at him over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“Everything you told me about the Avatar,” says Zhao. He doesn’t know how Zuko hasn’t picked up on this himself, already. It seems entirely obvious. “I needed to underscore the urgency of a northern invasion, and the Avatar’s location there was key.”

There’s a brief tug, like Zuko’s trying to pull away from him. But they’ll be stuck like this for the next ten minutes, at least. 

“He hasn’t reached the North Pole yet,” says Zuko. “I only said he might be heading there.”

“Yes, but successful invasions aren’t mounted by broadcasting those plans across the world. We’ll keep things quiet, wait for him to make his move, and then we’ll follow with the full fire power of the navy.”

Zuko swallows. “That’s - incredible.”

“I know,” Zhao agrees, giddy. “It’s ambitious. If this goes right, we won’t just be conquering the north - we’ll be capturing the Avatar. The  _ last _ Avatar.”

And Zuko must be impressed. He’s gone totally speechless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, researching how fast air bisons can fly: what's faster than an albatross but slower than a commercial plane?
> 
> me after frantic googling: ah yes..... a pterodactyl


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ozai asks Zuko to complete a difficult errand.

The garden just outside Zuko’s bedroom feels like an alien environment after being cooped up inside for so long. He heaves a deep breath and savors the dewy feeling his skin gets the longer stands out in the morning chill. When his fingers start to get cold, he closes his eyes and concentrates, draws the flame from his heart and sends it to his extremities until they tingle with heat.

He begins his kata with a horse stance, but winces when this pose draws a sharp ache from deep in his thighs. No problem; he’ll just start with something a little more basic… but that one makes his shoulder twinge. No matter what he tries, he feels sore and out-of-practice. 

Zuko avoids reentering his bedroom, instead trekking barefoot through the wet grass to a door that leads into the kitchen. Iroh is up and milling about, and greets him with the enthusiasm of an “I missed you” without saying the words, as if acknowledging Zuko was gone a week would be tantamount to acknowledging why he was gone. 

Iroh really only allows himself to brush up against the truth of it once; he can’t help himself when he sees the swollen bite mark where Zuko’s neck meets his shoulder. “That’ll scar.”

“That’s the idea,” Zuko replies, trying to keep his tone light.

Iroh’s brow is furrowed with worry. “Does it hurt? I can get you something.”

Zuko’s first impulse is to refuse all the fuss, but he makes himself nod instead. Iroh goes about fixing him a warm compress and a cup of green tea, which he absolutely insists upon.

“It’ll ease your pain,” Iroh promises, and it doesn’t, but Zuko drinks the whole cup anyway.

“Do you feel changed?” 

There’s an uncharitable way to interpret that, but Zuko’s never met anyone who deserves the benefit of the doubt more than his uncle. So he thinks the question over seriously, taking stock of the first week of his marriage.

“Yes,” he decides. “Not in the way I thought I would.”

He’s about to elaborate, but there’s a yawn from the entrance of the kitchen, and Zhao enters. He seems too large, an anomaly in a space that, until now, has been for just Zuko and his uncle. 

“Morning,” Zhao greets them both. When he slides into a seat next to Zuko, he pulls him into kiss. That’s also different. Kissing in front of family members. Moments ago, Zuko would say he felt light and airy, but he feels jittery, now. Maybe it’s the caffeine from the tea.

“...Is that bothering you, again?” Zhao tugs gently at the compress on Zuko’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I should know better than to manhandle someone so delicate, but I suppose I lose sight of myself around you.”

Iroh coughs. Zhao throws a glance his way. “General. What do you have planned for your day?”

“The usual, blissful nothing,” the old man replies. “The only hiccup is that I will have to find someone else to join me for my afternoon game of pai sho, now that Azula has returned to the Earth Kingdom. So if you’re looking to play, Commander...”

Zhao’s responding smile looks forced. “Normally I would  _ love _ to take you up on the offer, but unfortunately I’m booked for the day. Ozai has me working closely with the war council on a special project.”

“What special project?”

It’s almost endearing, how Zhao puffs up when people ask him these sorts of questions. “I’m leading an invasion of the North Pole.”

Iroh knows his military history well, and is taken aback. “The North Pole! That’s a risky gamble.”

His word choice earns him a bit of a scowl. “That may be,” says Zhao, “but it’s a risk we have to take. It’s become much more urgent.”

“Urgent? I’ve been under the impression the north has remained fairly quiet for the duration of the war…”

“It’s the Avatar,” Zuko cuts in, voice strained. “He’s heading to the North Pole. They want to capture him.”

If this news unsettles him, Iroh keeps his voice light enough to hide it. “Very interesting. Has the boy made threats against us?”

“His mere  _ existence _ is a threat,” Zhao answers. “The sooner he’s taken care of, the better.”

Iroh responds to this intensity with a benign smile. “I suppose. In any case, it sounds like enormously important work. I’m glad you’ve found your place in the royal court so quickly. How long will you be with us?”

“A few months, at least.”

“Ah, what a relief. I’m sure you two are thrilled…”

Zuko tunes the rest of their conversation out, trying to focus on pulling apart the knots in his stomach. When they’re finished breakfast, he heads back to the bedroom to change, Zhao trailing after him like an oversized shadow. He’s not sure if it’s unreasonable to ask Zhao to wait outside; yes, he’s seen everything, but all that skin isn’t meant to be an invitation for something more. He just needs to get ready for the day. After hesitating at the wardrobe, Zuko decides that to just go swiftly might be the best. Get it over with.

He has his head free and his arms still wrapped in his shirt when a large palm flattens over the naked skin of his waist. Zuko turns to rebuke him, and catches his husband’s lips. Warm fingers skate up his side, but the grip doesn’t go rough, and after a couple of open-mouthed kisses Zhao lets him pull back.

“I’m just getting dressed.” Said more sharply than he meant to.

“And I’m just kissing you.” A last peck against the downturned corner of his mouth, and Zhao heads off to the other side of the room to change. Today, he dons his naval uniform. It would seem excessive, if not for the fact that Zhao looks right at home in it. Knowing him, it’s probably a calculated move, deliberately forsaking the court finery he married into so he can instead remind everyone of the rank he earned on his own. 

At his husband’s request, Zuko helps tie the breastplate and sharp shoulder pads into place. It’s only when he’s caught off guard, absorbed in his ministrations, that Zhao asks, “Are you angry with me?”

“No,” Zuko says, unsure why it feels like a lie.

“You’ve been silent all morning. Even more so than usual.” Zhao adjusts one of his bracers while he waits for Zuko to speak. He gets no response. “If I did something, you may as well come out with it now. I’m no good at passive aggressive guessing games.”

“I told you, I’m not angry.”

“Good.” Zhao brings a hand to his husband’s cheek and leans down to kiss him. It’s dirtier than a Monday morning calls for, but Zuko complies, not wanting to prove Zhao’s suspicions right.

They part ways, agreeing to meet again at lunch. Zhao has a busy morning planned, with various important people to meet. Zuko pictures him in dimly lit rooms, frowning and nodding at other alphas as they draw up their plans and decide the fate of the world. He should be thrilled to be married to someone so important, serving such a high purpose for their nation. Yet when he meditates on the possibility of a world without the Avatar, terror sits in his stomach like a sharp-edged stone. 

It doesn’t make any sense. Zuko has lived his whole life without an Avatar.  _ Iroh _ , who is nearing sixty, has lived his whole life without an Avatar. There’s essentially no one alive to remember the world before the start of the war, when the cowardly airbenders unleashed a surprise attack on the Fire Nation soldiers they’d begged to come aid them. 

But ever since the Avatar’s return, the world has seemed like a more magical place. There are few connections to the spirit world in the heavily industrialized Fire Nation capital, but to know that somewhere out there is a boy who can soar through the air, and holds the potential to master all the elements in the world… 

Is he  _ inherently _ evil? In the last six months or so, he’s kept his focus to small towns, and while he hasn’t exactly been  _ pro- _ empire in his actions, he’s young enough still that perhaps the right person could get through to him. After all, couldn’t there be use in their empire for a person with such diverse knowledge? It must make him terribly empathetic to all the different sorts of benders; perhaps he’d make for a skilled ambassador. Perhaps there are connections he could make between the nations that no one else could.

“Stop it,” Zuko whispers to himself. He clenches his hands so hard his nails bite into his palms. It’s like Zhao said: his mere existence is a threat to the Fire Nation. It’s a betrayal to think otherwise. A betrayal to his country and to his father and to his husband. He should be grateful his silly little hobby became of use.

Even knowing this, his apprehension does not fade.

* * *

Around noon, Zuko makes the walk to the Great Hall. He catches his father on the way to the throne room, followed by a train of advisors. Rather than walk past and ignore him, Ozai stops within a foot of him, gaze steely. He wants something. Zuko staunches his nerves and bows in greeting.

“I want you to talk to someone on the war council,” Ozai says. “I believe he is pocketing palace funds. Have him take you to dinner, perhaps an afternoon out. Something private where he won’t feel quite so cautious. Keep an eye on his spending.”

Zuko is taken aback. Ozai has asked him to talk to many members of the royal court for the purpose of gathering information on them, but this request seems grossly inappropriate compared to the others.

“But Father-” As Ozai’s eyes bore into him, the words become smaller in his mouth, so that he barely pushes them out. “I’m - married.” 

Ozai’s eyes flicker to the mating mark his neck. “Then wear something with a high collar.”

Zuko swallows. “Alright. Who do you want me to talk to?” 

“Admiral Sung. You’ve met?”

“I know of him,” Zuko confirms. His stomach churns at the mere mention of the name. 

“Good. Report to me tomorrow, first thing in the morning.” Ozai deigns to give him one last nod before stalking off.

Admiral Sung. Of all the people Ozai could have asked him to talk to, he had to choose an unrepentant lecher who has groped his way across the royal court more than once. Although Zuko has been lucky enough to escape Sung’s wandering hands thus far, he’s heard stories: Mai almost stabbed him for “stumbling” into Ty Lee’s chest at a party, and it’s a well-known rule amongst nobility not to let any of your omega staff work an event if he’s going to be around. The fact that Ozai has specifically asked Zuko to speak alone with this man fills him with dread. He knows he cannot refuse his father’s wishes and avoid this confrontation altogether. 

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he nearly jumps out of his skin when a hand closes around his shoulder. He whips around, almost expecting to see Admiral Sung, but it’s just Zhao. The relief Zuko feels upon seeing him must show, because he catches his husband mirroring him, the quizzical look on his face sliding into something much warmer.

“It’s a relief you’ve come to see me, considering how I harassed you this morning,” Zhao jests.

“You didn’t harass me,” Zuko says, barely remembering what he’s referring to. 

“You gave me such a scowl when I kissed you. I thought for sure you’d avoid me for the rest of the day.”

“I didn’t scowl...” And as if to disprove him, he takes Zhao’s arm. 

They take their meal on a private terrace overlooking the inner court. Zuko can see the pavilion where they got married, already stripped of decoration save an austere Fire Nation banner hung over one side. Zhao barely eats, he’s so eager to tell Zuko everything that’s happened this morning. It honestly all sounds like classified information, but when Zuko points this out, Zhao insists that it’s fine. “You’re Fire Nation royalty, Zuko. Who on earth are you going to tell who isn’t already in the inner circle?”

Eventually, Zhao runs out of things he wants to say, and turns his attention off of himself long enough to ask about Zuko. “I saw you were talking to your father, earlier. What did he want?”

All at once, Zuko’s good mood is ruined; his stomach clenches and twists as he remembers the job set before him. “He wants me to talk to someone for him tonight. But I’m honestly dreading it.”

Zhao raises an eyebrow. “If you don’t want to do it, why don’t you just refuse?”

Zuko stares at him. As much as it baffles him, Zhao doesn’t seem to be joking with this suggestion. “You don’t say no to the Fire Lord,” Zuko explains.

“I mean, sure. But he’s also your father.” A pause. When Zuko doesn’t relent, Zhao continues, “What’s got you so upset about this person he wants you to talk to?”

“He has a reputation as something of a pervert.” Zuko catches Zhao’s look of alarm and immediately starts backpedaling. “I wouldn’t  _ let _ him do anything to me! But I’m afraid of how quickly it could escalate if I reject him, so I just don’t want to talk to him at all.” His teacher Aloki had taught him that while counting and breathing exercises helped, the best way to maintain your temper was simply to avoid the things that made you angry. Zuko is afraid if he comes into contact with Sung, he won’t be able to stop himself from burning those wandering hands to a crisp.

Zhao narrows his eyes. “Just who  _ is _ this man?”

“Admiral Sung.”

“Admiral Sung,” Zhao repeats, voice taking on a sharp edge. “He’s well-known for this, and Ozai still asked you to talk to him?”

Zuko wilts. Technically, his father hasn’t asked that he  _ just _ talk to Sung, but to go into detail will definitely make Zhao angry. “He probably didn’t think twice about it; he asks me to talk to people for him all the time.”

“What  _ kind  _ of people?” Zhao asks. There’s something dangerous in his tone that makes Zuko almost too afraid to answer.

“Just - alphas,” Zuko admits, the truth wrenched out of his mouth. “When he wants information and doesn’t want to deal with it himself, sometimes he has me approach them.”

“Alone?”

Zuko hesitates. “Not always, but… in this case, yes. Father thinks I’ll be able to persuade Admiral Sung into letting his guard down if we’re alone.”

Zhao looks bewildered. “And you’re  _ fine _ with this?”

“Not really, but - it doesn’t matter how I feel,” Zuko says. The anger he sees on Zhao’s face is scaring him. He’s afraid he’s going to get into trouble for every innocent conversation he’s ever had with an alpha while his husband - his fiancé, at the time - was hundreds of miles away.

Zhao sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fire Lord or not, this is ridiculous. He can’t just ask you to do these kinds of things! It’s inappropriate. This one is  _ especially _ too far.” It takes a moment for it to sink in that Zhao isn’t angry at Zuko; he’s angry at  _ Ozai. _ Zuko doesn’t know what to do with this realization, but it sits in his stomach with a warm glow.

“I’ll talk to your father and see if I can get you out of it,” Zhao says, determined.

“You don’t have to-”

“I  _ will _ ,” Zhao insists. “I told you I’d make sure you’d never have any regrets about me, and I meant it. Let me protect you, Zuko.”

Those words rend his chest as tender as an open wound. Zuko knows how quickly his father’s temper can escalate when his orders are refused. He would be frightened on Zhao’s behalf, except for the fact that, looking into his unwavering gaze, it seems that if anyone could stand up to Ozai, it’s this man. 

Zuko nods in consent. He reaches out to Zhao to feel the weight and warmth of his touch; on reflex, the broad fingers curl shut the moment he lays his hands inside, all but swallowing them from view.

* * *

Just when he thought he’d found a way into Ozai’s inner circle, the Fire Lord had felt the need to lay an absolutely  grotesque insult at Zhao’s feet. Renting his spouse out to the other men of the royal court like a common whore - does Ozai think he’s so grateful to be here that he’ll let this emasculation go on? No, Zhao needs to make it clear that this is completely untenable behavior. He desperately wishes he was dealing with an ordinary noble; at least then he could fry his face off, but as it stands, he’ll have to be careful, setting boundaries under a dozen layers of court-speak. 

Zhao waits until the room has cleared and he is alone with the Fire Lord, a feat not nearly so hard to achieve now as it was when he first arrived in Caldera. He makes it seem like an afterthought, shuffling papers as he says, “By the way, I meant to tell you something, my lord - you should ask someone else to look into Admiral Sung for you. Zuko’s not going to do it.”

Ozai’s quiet for so long, he hopes that will be the end of it. But then comes the reply, hissed like steam from a pot. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” says Zhao. He straightens, stares directly into the flames on the dais. “To be frank, Admiral Sung is a disgusting creep. I’ve heard stories about him that would make your skin crawl, my lord, and it’s no doubt a testament to his cunning that he’s been able to hide his true colors from you for so long.”

“That is a surprise.” Ozai’s voice is flat. “However, it puts me at an inconvenience, if Zuko won’t do this simple favor for me.”

“It’s not Zuko, your highness. I’m the one who can’t abide the thought of my spouse spending an evening with another man, so if you’re going to be disappointed, be disappointed in me.” Zhao offers what he means to be a beneficent smile, unaware of the oily way it slides across his face. “I’d be more than happy to find someone else willing to spy on Admiral Sung’s spending habits for you - although forgive me for saying that it seems unnecessary, given your authority. If you don’t trust the man with your coffer, why bother with an investigation? It is your right to do away with anyone unworthy enough to lose even the smallest ounce of your faith.”

Was that a nudge too far? He has to admit, this is the perfect opportunity to get rid of a rival, so long as he can make it look like a genuine insult to his spouse’s safety, rather than just a difference of opinion. Ozai’s fond of his long pauses, so Zhao can’t tell if he’s treading a line, here.

“I will decide on how best to deal with Admiral Sung,” Ozai says eventually. “But regarding the other matter, I must admit it slipped my mind that I’m no longer the ultimate authority regarding Zuko’s comings and goings. I’ll be sure to ask your permission before charging him with these errands in the future.”

Slipped his mind? The wedding was a  _ week _ ago. Still, Zhao forces himself to smile through the slight. “That’s most gracious of you, my highness. Really, though, I think it’d be easiest if we ended these sorts of errands altogether. Zuko’s confessed he’s worried how it might look to others now that he’s married, and I don’t blame him. He’s understandably very concerned with his sense of honor.”

Another pause. “Well. If it’s a matter of Zuko’s  _ honor _ . I suppose I haven’t any need of him anymore.”

“Glad we could come to a resolution,” Zhao says, relieved. Then he makes his exit.

* * *

The guard couldn’t have been any older than seventeen. He  _ was _ tall, and the Fire Nation armour gave him the illusion of broad-shouldered manhood, but Zhao could see how childish the face that peaked out from the ominous skull-themed helmet was. Under all that iron was a reedy whelp, of no threat to him whatsoever, but he still couldn’t help but feel jealousy curling white-hot in his palms when he saw the guard talking to Zuko.

Zhao had been coming out of the Great Hall when he spotted Zuko out in the yard on his own, and it had seemed like perfect timing, what with the good news he had to share about Admiral Sung. But before he could get close and make himself known, that guard had grabbed Zuko’s attention first, shouting and waving to him from across the yard as if they were peers. He used the proper address, at least, but Zhao wasn’t overly fond of the dopy smile that spread across his face when he’d jogged the last bit of distance and stood close to the prince. 

Then the guard reached into some hidden pocket in his armour and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. At the sight of it, Zuko’s polite smile went positively  _ radiant _ . He took the note into his hands with as much care as one might attend a priceless artefact.

Zhao was no longer content to observe. He crossed the yard with the same imperious walk he used when the men on his ship were lined up and ready to face his wrath. As he got closer, he could make out what they were saying.

“Who did you say this was from, again?” Zuko asked.

“My sister,” the guard replied. His voice was so hoarse and boyish, it was a miracle it didn’t crack like a dropped glass. “She got sent home because she hurt her hands, but she brought this with her. I thought you’d find it interesting.”

“I hope she’s okay,” Zuko said, voice filled with concern. 

“It’s wasn’t anything real bad,” the guard insisted, his gesture of assurance made awkward by the long spear in his hand. “Her bending’s a little funny, but she can still write and all.”

Zuko nodded, then went quiet as he read the note. He was so absorbed he didn’t see how close Zhao had gotten, but the guard did spot him, saluting awkwardly. He opened his mouth, ready to give the usual deferential greeting when he was interrupted:

“Where was your sister stationed?” Zuko asked. He didn’t look up from the note.

The guard hesitated, trying to decide between addressing the member of royalty who had just approached and answering the royalty right in front of him. He decided on the latter. “Omashu.”

Zuko’s eyes widened. “Omashu? I haven’t heard any reports of him there before...” 

It was at this moment that he looked up and finally saw Zhao. Zuko didn’t give a guilty jolt at the sight of his husband, instead sliding into an easy smile of greeting that did wonders on Zhao’s building temper. He wasn’t entirely calmed, though; he cast a dark smile on the both of them and said, “What have we got here? A little love note?”

The way Zuko was angled towards Zhao, he probably couldn’t see that the guard turned six shades of vermillion at the accusation. 

“I-I would never make such overtures towards royalty, Prince Zhao,” the guard spluttered. “Especially not a married man.”

“Jaze here was just showing me an account his sister sent from the Earth Kingdom,” Zuko said, nonplussed. “Apparently the Avatar was spotted in Omashu a few weeks ago.”

The innocence of the interaction was confirmed, but Zhao saw the blush creep across the guard’s face, and he couldn’t resist the urge to mark his territory. He stepped up to take Zuko by the shoulders, effectively maneuvering himself between them. 

“Fascinating,” said Zhao. “I wonder why Azula didn’t mention it when she was here last week.”

Zuko rolled his eyes. “I’m sure there’s some insidious reason she hid it from me. Maybe Uncle will know something about it…” 

Zhao began gently pressing against Zuko’s shoulders, moving him away from the guard. “I’ve heard your father wasn’t terribly thrilled with how things went in Omashu. Maybe she’s concealing the fact the Avatar was there because it he evaded her capture.”

“Hm. I wonder.” Zuko, lost in his thoughts, followed blindly where he was led. As they got further away, Zhao glanced over his shoulder to leer at the guard they’d left behind. He looked a bit forlorn, but to his credit, he didn’t scowl or pout. 

Zuko followed his husband’s gaze. “Oh - I didn’t get a chance to thank him…” He waved, and the guard waved back. “I usually pay for this kind of information. I’ll have to give him something the next time I see him.”

“I’m sure the chance to bask in your company was reward enough,” said Zhao. “Anyway, I have good news for you.”

“Mmm.” Zuko’s attention had returned to the note in his hands. It was a relief to know it wasn’t some declaration of undying love, but Zhao wanted the younger man’s full attention. He waved a hand in front of Zuko’s face, and he finally turned away from the note, dazed. “What is it?”

“I’ve talked to your father. You don’t have to bother with Admiral Sung.”

The relief on Zuko’s face was palpable. Definitely a bigger reaction than the guard got for his paltry little Avatar tip, right? “Thank you for talking to him. He wasn’t too mad, was he?”

“Not at all,” said Zhao. “He understood me perfectly.”

“He’s not usually the understanding type,” Zuko pointed out. “He must like you.”

Evidently, if he was more willing to hear Zhao out than his own son. “Yes, well, we can put that behind us, at least.” He couldn’t resist the smirk creeping onto his face. “Do  _ I _ get a reward, for helping you out of that errand?”

He didn’t notice the tightness in Zuko’s responding smile. “Of course… within reason.”

* * *

Shortly after, Admiral Sung was expelled from the war council, then disappeared from Caldera entirely. No one was entirely sure where he went, but the most popular rumor was that he had been banished to the colonies. 

(There were, of course, those who maintained that he was in the catacombs under Caldera, either manacled to the wall or buried in the ground. But that was just a rumor. His family was missing, too, so banishment must be the more likely option.)

The news, although bleak for Sung, warmed Zuko’s heart. After all, Zhao told his father all about Admiral Sung’s reputation. It was well-known amongst omegas, but maybe the alphas of the war council simply never guessed it could be true; perhaps Ozai’s disproportionate punishment had a gleam of protectiveness behind it?

With all the commotion surrounding Admiral Sung, it barely crossed Zuko’s mind that he never got the chance to reward Jaze for tipping him off about the Avatar being in Omashu. They simply never crossed paths again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late update, this week got away from me!! ive been finishing up my chapter outlines. so far ive been working off a million scattered notes written out of order that i tighten as i go, but i want to write this last stretch with a fairly set-in-stone blueprint. i will probably adjust the max chapter count fairly soon, but should be the last time i do that


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko and Zhao struggle to adjust to married life. They cope by playing pretend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chilling on the plot to focus on our characters and get a little smutty (do ppl still say smutty? or is my age showing lmao)

Zuko thought he’d been sleeping like shit for the past week because he was in heat, but now that it’s three days out and he still hasn’t gotten any rest, he’s starting to think that sleeping with another person in your bed is just impossible. Firebenders tend to be on the warm side, but Zhao’s a human furnace, and every limb he slings over Zuko weighs approximately a thousand pounds. It doesn’t really help if Zuko puts space between them, either; eventually he’s jolted awake either by Zhao sleepily pawing at him with the intent to drag him back towards the center of the bed, or by being crowded up against the absolute edge of the mattress.

It’s not that Zuko has anything against being in such close proximity to Zhao normally. As it turns out, his favorite part of sex is after it’s all over, when they just collapse and lay there with limbs entangled, feeling each other’s body heat, no sound except for their breathing. He’d be the first to admit that he’s touch-starved; growing up in a family that’s not really big on physical affection, he is equal parts clueless for what to do with someone as touchy as Zhao and desperate to engage in that physical contact, even if he’s not always sure how to initiate it outside the confines of sex. 

Anyway, the point is that Zuko doesn’t hate that it’s Zhao holding him tightly, there’s just... something different about trying to sleep with it. Maybe because the lights are off and the covers are on and there’s none of the afterglow that comes from a good orgasm, but it all becomes so much more suffocating when they lay down for the night. He can feel himself getting cranky from the lack of sleep, but the alternative is to nap while Zhao’s gone, and that would mean admitting how incredibly empty his life is that he can just sleep all day, and  _ that _ leads Zuko down a whole psychological rabbit hole of worrying and self-loathing.

These aren’t the only quirks of married life. They watch one another like strange animals in the wild, and in this way, they start to pick up on one another’s habits. Zhao confesses he doesn’t read for pleasure, which comes as a surprise, considering he reads voraciously. It’s never terribly entertaining - from court documents, to legislature, to memos, it’s clear Zhao only reads if it will contribute to his military career in some way. Sometimes he devours histories or biographies, if he feels it’s relevant to something he’s doing. Zuko admires the academic side of him, but feels inadequate in comparison. He mostly reads plays, which Zhao thinks is weird. Why  _ read _ plays when they’re supposed to be performed? Which leads to Zuko explaining that his taste extends to material that isn’t all that easy to catch a performance of - it’s usually fairly old, or obscure.

“I suppose I don’t see the appeal. Why not read a novel, if you’re looking for fiction?”

“I like the structure of a script,” Zuko says. “It’s pared down. Quicker to read.” As soon as he catches Zhao’s look, he feels stupid, like he’s just said he’s too impatient to read heavier prose. “My mother loved plays. I suppose I picked up the habit from her.”

That seems to satisfy Zhao for the interim, or at least warn him it’s a touchy subject. An image floats into Zuko’s head, and he can’t tell if it’s a memory or a dream or just a nice thought: under a citadel of blankets with his mother, reading out the lines in  _ Love Amongst the Dragons _ , giggling and smiling when their performances edge too close to seriousness. His mother had a beautiful laugh.

Still, Zhao’s always observing him when he reads, eyes lashing the tattered paperback as if holding back a question. Zuko tries to ignore him, to concentrate on the words on the page, but it’s nearly impossible.

Finally, Zhao pipes up. “I swear you’ve been reading that same tiny thing for weeks.”

Well. He isn’t wrong. “I’m re-reading it,” Zuko says.

“...And how many times have you done that?”

Zuko fights the irritation rising like bile in his throat. “I… like to imagine it differently every time. The performances, and the staging. Set design. Sometimes I go for the most realistic adaptation, and just try to picture the story, but mostly I wonder how I’d stage it, if I got to…”

Zhao isn’t saying anything. Though his expression is fairly neutral, Zuko imagines the judgement there, and wilts under it.

“Seems repetitive,” says Zhao, “but if you enjoy it, I won’t stop you.”

Like his husband, Zuko doesn’t necessarily read for pleasure. He does it because there’s little else he’s been allowed to do. It’s this, or comb through his Avatar stuff again, and he hasn’t come across any new Omashu leads. He wonders if Zhao would be more permissive of certain hobbies than his father was. Somehow he never brings himself to ask. 

He stops reading plays for a little while, feeling self-conscious about his taste. But then his next choice draws Zhao’s commentary all the same.

“ _ Kyoshi -  _ isn’t that the Avatar before Roku? Where’d you even get a copy of her life story?” Zhao runs a finger along the book’s spine. Zuko’s grip on it tightens.

“Some traders who came to port a few years ago. They brought a heap of things from Kyoshi Island,” Zuko mumbles. Really, can he do anything in peace anymore? 

“What a relief it wasn’t burned the moment it arrived in the capital,” Zhao says. “I have to say, it’s not a surprise that when you finally pick up something real to read, it’s to do with the Avatar. What do you think draws you to him, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko lies. “I guess there’s just something novel about a bender who can master all the elements.”

* * *

Months before, when Zhao’s letters had slowed to a troubling but not yet ominous pace, Zuko went to the marketplace with his uncle and found the airbender scrolls they now held so precious. There had been another thing from those same merchants that caught Zuko’s eye, perhaps even more so than the scrolls: wanted posters from the Earth Kingdom, with the supposed new Avatar emblazoned on them.

Zuko had never seen an airbender before. They didn’t even show them in textbooks when they covered the battles with the air temples. It was illuminating, to finally see those black-and-white descriptions come to life. He’d been picturing the tattoos incorrectly all this time, hadn’t realized how they stretched down the limbs and not just the head. It reminded Zuko of bending lessons where his uncle demonstrated how energy flows throughout the body. Did all benders harness the flow of their chi? Zuko had always assumed that was unique to fire, but if the airbenders literally tattooed their skin with those paths of spiritual energy, perhaps it wasn’t.

The boy in the picture didn’t look much older than Zuko. They could even be the same age. His eyes traced the line of the jaw, still soft with youth, yet just finding its shape. The wide gray eyes. The lopsided smile.

Maybe that’s what had drawn him to it. No one was ever depicted smiling in a wanted poster. It was such an odd choice for the artist to make; perhaps the boy had left such a strong impression that whatever witness described him insisted he  _ must _ be drawn smiling.

“Do you want that?” the merchant asked, shaking Zuko out of his reveries. “We’ve got a whole stack of ‘em, so it’s cheap. Just a couple coppers.”

“He does,” Iroh chimed in, before Zuko could speak. “And these scrolls - I imagine they’re not quite as cheap?”

They absolutely were not. For the price of those scrolls, they could have invited the whole marketplace to a grand feast. The palace financier would be cross, but even knowing this, Zuko couldn’t bring himself to speak out against his uncle. 

When they got home, Iroh spent the evening reading over the scrolls, pausing to exclaim passages aloud to Zuko when he crossed something that particularly tickled his fancy. The facts were mundane: there was nothing about the forms the airbenders used, or how they fought, but there was much about the spirituality imbued in their everyday life. It seemed they saw everything as sacred in some way; every morning started with a reflection on the first conscious breath they took. They avoided eating meat, because they felt they had no right to take the breath of other creatures, not even to support their own life. Such a sensitive people. Hardly the perpetrators of the legendary sneak attack that had started a century of war.

That night had culminated in a restless sleep for Zuko. He seemed to awaken every hour, always with some new question sitting in his mind as perfectly formed as if it were whispered in his ear while he fitfully slept. First thing in the morning, when it was barely light, he decided he’d feed his curiosity and go to the library in the Great Hall. Just to look.

There’d been nothing on airbenders that he didn’t already know from school. This was supposed to be the finest collection of knowledge in the nation, a great privilege only the royal family deserved access to. And yet even this library couldn’t plumb depths that had been lost to history. After scowling his way through shelf after shelf, Zuko got another idea, and started to look for records on Roku instead. And then, when his search turned up only the most paltry textbook summaries, he tried to read about Roku’s temporaries, like Fire Lord Sozin. Again, all he found were the paltry summaries of airbender attacks with none of the detail he so desired.

By the time he had returned to the Lesser Hall, the piercing white sun of midday had risen into the sky, and he hadn’t yet had a single bite to eat, as absorbed as he’d been in his studies. He hadn’t found anything that satisfied his search. He needed to know more. He  _ would _ find more.

Soon after, Zuko’s Avatar collection had started. Iroh watched it all, amused, but he was never discouraging. His nephew regularly curbed his spending, so now would be the perfect time to get him back for it, especially because everything related to the Avatar was effectively contraband. But he wouldn’t. He simply wasn’t that sort of man. 

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Zuko eventually confessed. “I know it could get me in trouble, just like our firebending lessons. But I feel so drawn to him.” His attraction to the Avatar felt as natural as the fire burning beneath his skin, begging him to harness it and use it freely. In this case, he wanted to learn everything he could. Devour every piece of information that was out there to learn. 

Iroh gently took Zuko’s hand in his. “I think I may know why. For one, the discovery of the Avatar brings with it a sense of… balance.”

“How so?”

Iroh hummed. “Take a forest that has been burned away by wildfire. All that life - animals, the shelters they took refuge in, plant-life - gone. Before the ecosystem can rebuild itself, a single bud must be able to rise from the ashes around it. Do you understand what I mean?”

Zuko shook his head. His uncle’s proverbs frequently escaped his understanding.

“It means the world is healing.”

“From what?” Zuko whispered. His uncle’s smile looked so, so sad.

“The loss of the airbenders.”

It hadn’t been a loss. It had been a victory for the Fire Nation. The airbenders had struck first and they had  _ deserved _ what happened to them. Hadn’t they?

His uncle gaze was bottomless, almost as if he could see the turmoil plain on his nephew’s face. “There is something else. You know your mother and father’s marriage was arranged, much like yours. Have you ever wondered why your mother was chosen to join the royal family?”

Zuko was taken aback. “I always assumed she came from a good noble family.”

Iroh shook his head. “Ursa did not come from nobility. She was a direct descendant of Avatar Roku. I think you feel drawn to the Avatar because you  _ felt _ , even without knowing, that you were kin.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Zuko whispered. “You - you don’t just  _ know _ something like that without being told. It’s as impossible as…”

“Finding a living airbender, after all these years?” Iroh squeezed his hand. “Logic is a tool to help us arrive at an understanding, not a weapon to be wielded against the miraculous. Don’t fight what you know in your heart to be true, Zuko.”

* * *

At the end of a long day, Zuko permits himself to change out of the stuffy robes into soft breeches and a shirt. Next he pulls his hair free from the half topknot, retying it into a messy bun that keeps it all out of his face. He pretends not to notice how closely Zhao watches him undress as he sits over on the bed, neglecting to switch out his uniform for civilian clothes, face fixed into something like a pout. Or that’s what it looks like to Zuko’s paranoid mind; he tells himself he’s just projecting a bad mood where there is none. Zhao certainly seems welcoming when he grasps Zuko by the wrist, pulls him onto his lap, but the kisses seem slower than usual. Less enthusiastic.

Zuko knows he’ll regret it, but he asks. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Zhao replies. Not as verbose as usual, but okay. Zuko takes his word for it and tries to kiss him again. This time Zhao gives him a peck before turning his face away. His hands on Zuko’s hips steady him, hold him just shy of his lap so he can’t lean any closer.

“Are you  _ sure _ you’re okay?” Zuko presses. “We can stop if you like.”

“I don’t want to stop, it’s just…” Zhao sighs. “When you dress like that, I feel like I’m kissing some beta cadet.”

The slight flares in Zuko’s chest like fuel tossed on a fire. “I thought you  _ liked _ betas.”

Zhao scowls. “That’s uncalled for, don’t you think? I’m just saying, I wait all day to be alone with you, and when we’re finally together, you don’t put in any effort.”

“I put in effort  _ all day _ .” It’s absurd to be arguing about this while he’s literally straddling Zhao’s lap, but here they are.

“But I don’t get to see it. One tease at lunch hardly counts.”

Zuko has half a mind not to even meet Zhao for lunch anymore, but as much as it gets on his nerves, it also makes  _ some _ sense. It’s not like he’d ever dare to dress like this in front of his father. Aloki had stressed the importance of a grown omega having a constant facade that could never be dropped, except in the utmost privacy. Zuko supposes he’s used to thinking of the Lesser Hall as a place of privacy, but it’s not anymore. Now he shares it with Zhao.

With an annoyed sigh, Zuko pulls his hair loose, not caring if it hits Zhao in the face. “If you strip me naked, we don’t really have to worry about clothing, right?”

“That’s one compromise,” Zhao muses, fingers immediately twisting in Zuko’s waistband. 

Frankly, the two of them are so terrible at talking to each other that when Zhao finally kisses him properly, he feels relieved. Zuko’s decided that he enjoys the sex, the sex works (that first night was a fluke - the heat hormones were just making them both a little crazy, and the mating bite was always going to hurt - aside from a few brief slips, Zhao’s truly been so much gentler since), but they don’t know each other well enough to talk without boring or irritating each other. It’s probably not healthy that they forgo communication in favor of fucking away the little annoyances. Or at least it seems like the sort of thing that would earn him a lecture from Uncle, but he’s really the last person Zuko wants to be thinking about right now.

Zuko pulls his shirt over his head, but just as he’s got it over his arms, Zhao reaches out and grabs his suspended wrists, twists the fabric around them securely enough that he can’t pull them free. Startled, Zuko meets his husband’s eye.

“I’m trying something new,” Zhao says by way of explanation, and his grip on the makeshift restraint tightens. Even though they’ve been intimate a fair number of times by now, there’s something so much more vulnerable about his torso being bared to Zhao like this, when he cannot cover himself. He tugs at where his hands are bound above his head and doesn’t feel it budge.

Zhao’s breath ghosts over one nipple, warm air setting Zuko trembling with anticipation, so that when a tongue finally flattens and draws a slow path over the bud, he releases a shuddering gasp. Zhao swirls his tongue over the nipple until it hardens, then sucks, scraping the bud with his teeth. Zuko’s hands jerk involuntarily against their vice, hips stuttering for contact. He manages to press himself against the lap beneath him and grind down in a tight circle. At that, Zhao releases a low sound against his chest, helpless in a way that curls Zuko’s toes.

The hand not restraining him lands on his ass and squeezes, then shoves his hips down so he can rub more insistently against the outline of Zhao’s erection. Zuko gasps into the air above his husband’s head, “I thought you wanted me out of these stupid pants.” He grinds his hips messily against Zhao’s bulge, and feels teeth sink into his nipple in response, whimpering at the sharp mix of pain and pleasure.

Zhao releases Zuko so he can get off his lap. Zuko brings his arms down, starts struggling with the mess that’s been made of his shirt, and Zhao says, “I feel like I usually take the lead with these things.”

“I guess.” Zuko pulls his wrists free, not really meeting his gaze because he doesn’t want this to turn into more critique of his character. “It’s fine, though. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

He’s just slipped off his pants when Zhao says, “Yes, but I’m not so naive that I think you spent your heats without me just staring at the wall. Is there anything you want to try that we haven’t?”

Zuko glances up. In any other circumstance the question would mortify him into silence, but… Truthfully, with the weird vibes Zhao’s been giving off all afternoon, he hasn’t had a chance to appreciate the fact that they’re edging dangerously close to something he’s been fantasizing about since he was sixteen. 

His eyes rake over the uniform Zhao’s wearing. The shoulder pads that make him all the more imposing. The golden flame emblazoned across the chest. Every menacing layer adding bulk to his form, making him large for the same reasons a vine cobra lifts its hood. Looking at it fills Zuko with a deep ache. He feels like he’s looking at something that should’ve been his. 

Zhao’s already shed the thigh guards, and is reaching for his bracers when Zuko approaches, gently touches his hand to stop its ministrations. “Keep it on,” he says.

_ That _ clearly pleases the hell out of Zhao. “As you wish,” he all but purrs. He stands, pulls Zuko flush against him, and - spirits - there’s that sensation of rough fabric against skin that he’s been so curious about. Really, there’s more armour than he’d been fantasizing, but that’s almost better; it’s unyielding when he leans against it, a little cooler than his skin and terribly impersonal. He curls his arms around his husband’s neck and pulls him down into a kiss, hyper-aware of everywhere his naked body makes contact with Zhao’s clothed one. Maybe embracing Zhao like this is the closest he’ll ever get to knowing how it feels to actually wear the uniform.

There are fingers curling around his neck, the light squeeze freeing a moan that was buried in the hollow of his throat. Zhao uses the leverage to pull Zuko off him, keeping their mouths close enough that their breaths mingle as he asks, “How do you want this to go? Earth Kingdom peasant captured by invading Fire Nation solider?”

Zuko’s taken off guard by this prompt. “What?”

Zhao chuckles, kisses his ear and rasps, “Come  _ on _ , you like plays. Let’s add a little dimension to this.”

As his lips trail down Zuko’s neck, the younger man goes silent. Zhao’s idea is - okay. It’s not exactly what he wants. Really, if he had to get picky about it, there’s never really a  _ story _ that goes along with this fantasy. It’s just the way that it is, more tactile and visual than anything. 

“I wouldn’t know what to say,” Zuko insists, although a few ideas come to mind. Realistically, if they’re doing an invasion scenario, there’s going to be fear, and Zhao’s going to be responding with a lot of aggression. So basically everything he said would be taken as part of the scenario, and every attempt to stop would just be an invitation to keep going. It’d be a lot of  _ What are you doing? _ and  _ Please, don’t hurt me, _ and  _ Stop, I’m begging you, stop _ -

The sickening array of dialogue that spins through his head is interrupted when Zhao lets go of him, hands groping the bedcovers. “I have an idea,” he says, searching for something. Eventually, he holds aloft the ribbon Zuko threw away earlier, then reaches up to tie the other man’s hair back in a mostly loose, haphazard phoenix tail. Confused, Zuko lifts his hands to adjust it.

Zhao leans back to survey his work, then clasps a hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “Now then.  _ Cadet _ . Are you ready to pay tribute to your commander?”

And Zuko did not expect how the slight from earlier, played to a completely different tone, would now flare in his gut like a bonfire. He stands there for a moment, utterly stunned, before he realizes Zhao has asked him for consent. Does he want to pretend to be a Fire Nation soldier in an erotic roleplay with his husband?

He finds himself nodding.

“Perfect,” Zhao says. “If you find yourself struggling for dialogue, you can always fall back on  _ Yes, sir, _ and  _ Thank you, Commander _ . Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.” His voice sounds positively raw.

“Good. On your knees then, soldier.”

The hand on his shoulder nudges him downwards, and Zuko immediately drops to his knees. The hand snakes into his hair, wrapping around the phoenix tail to hold it like a handle. Zhao doesn’t press him any which way yet, though. Just holds him there.

“I think you’re smart enough to guess what I want from you, lieutenant,” says Zhao.

Lieutenant? Has he been promoted? Zuko takes in one shuddering breath, then reaches out to unbuckle Zhao’s uniform belt. He unbuttons Zhao’s pants, pushes the fabric just out of the way so he can free his erection without fully undressing him. Once the weight of it is in his hands, he finds himself marveling over how it’ll ever fit inside his mouth. He doesn’t actually have to take it  _ all _ in, right? Zhao can practically do that to Zuko, but there’s a pronounced size difference. Zhao’s cock is mostly soft, but as Zuko runs his hands along it, it twitches and stiffens. 

This is something Zuko hasn’t gotten a chance to try, yet. He glances up at Zhao, looking for a bit of guidance, and is put off by the sheer perspective of this angle - the other man simply  _ towers  _ over him. It really adds to the authority of the uniform.

The words feel small in his mouth, but they come out throaty and seductive. “Where should I start, commander?”

“Suck the head,” Zhao orders, curtly.

“Yes, sir.” And with that, Zuko leans forward and wraps his lips around the head of Zhao’s cock. It tastes like skin. He’s not sure why he expected it to taste like something else. He twirls his tongue over the head like Zhao has done to him several times, and he receives an approving hum in return. Feeling brave, he tries to take in a little more, and gags.

“Not all at once, cadet.” Hm. Demoted again. 

If Zuko’s learned anything from Zhao - and maybe, possibly, those romance novels he mocked - he knows he has to make this as wet as possible. He starts to move his lips back and forth over the head, gathering moisture in his mouth, swirling his tongue aimlessly as he moves. He uses his right hand as a guide, both to prop up the weight of Zhao’s cock and to stop himself from taking it in too deep.

Zhao’s hand, the one not buried in his hair, taps Zuko’s left hand, where it is wrapped around his belt in a nearly white-knuckle grip. Zuko lets his hand be guided to the shaft, large fingers encircling his own to squeeze, before leaving him to try it by himself. Zuko squeezes, strokes, finds a rhythm to match as he moves his mouth and hand in tandem.

He teases his tongue into the slit. Zhao lets out a noise, tightens his grip in his hair.

“Lick the shaft,” Zhao says, guiding him by the hair, and Zuko breathes a “Yes, sir,” against the side of his cock before flattening his tongue along the shaft and licking it, top to bottom. The closer he gets to Zhao’s balls, the tighter the grip in his hair seems to get, not forcing him, exactly, but  _ insisting,  _ and so even though he’s wary of the smattering of hair, even though it seems a little humiliating, Zuko leans forward and runs his tongue along the soft skin of Zhao’s testicles.

_ That _ earns him a full-body shudder. Emboldened, he runs his tongue up along his shaft and then back down, swirling it along Zhao’s balls, getting them wet with saliva. 

Zhao’s grip on his hair goes loose enough that Zuko can pull back and suck the head back into his mouth. He takes in what he can, tasting the salt of gathering precum. He spreads it with his tongue and then removes his mouth, using tight strokes of the hand to spread spit and precum along the shaft until it’s lubricated, so his hand slides along with less painful friction as he strokes what he can’t fit into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Zhao curses, voice ragged. “Keep doing that - I order you to keep doing that.”

The desperation in his tone sends a spark down Zuko’s body. He can feel the throbbing between his own legs and shifts, wishing he had at least one hand free as he leans in to suck as much of Zhao’s cock as he can into his mouth - which isn’t much, granted, but as he bobs along it, lips stretched and wetting the way, he can feel how each thrust to the back of his throat becomes less alarming, can trick himself into getting farther and farther each time. Ultimately, he only gets partway down the shaft, but Zhao doesn’t seem remotely unhappy with this, so long as he doesn’t forget to work his hands, so long as he keeps his tongue moving.

Spirits, Zuko’s dick is  _ rock hard _ , untouched and angrily bobbing between his legs. He moves his hips in small unconscious thrusts, but all he catches is empty air. Frustrated, he lets loose a moan around Zhao’s dick.

“You like that, cadet?” Zhao asks. “You like sucking your commander’s cock?”

Zuko moans again, as if in affirmation, and picks up the pace. His jaw is getting sore, but he doesn’t want to stop, not until Zhao lets him. If he stops or tries to divert course, he might be punished - but oh,  _ that _ thought sends a jolt through him, and he all but whimpers around the dick in his mouth.

“You look like you belong there,” Zhao says, “on your knees, pleasuring me. Maybe I’ll promote you to my personal whore. You’ll kneel in my quarters every night as I fuck your throat.”

Zuko is no longer the only one setting the pace; Zhao has begun to fuck his mouth in shallow thrusts, careful not to choke him, but absolutely not letting him break free, either. Zuko feels like he’s being  _ used _ , a tool for his husband’s pleasure, and while that stokes the fire burning in his belly, to regain some sway, he takes the hand that was stroking Zhao’s shaft and moves it lower, rakes his nails gently back and forth over Zhao’s balls, then massages them in one hand.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Zhao says, forgetting his lines, “fuck, fuck,  _ Zuko- _ ”

And with that, his cum spills into the back of Zuko’s throat. In imagining this scenario, Zuko always thought he’d spit it out, but Zhao’s still holding him in place by the hair, and in the split second that wetness fills his throat, he immediately swallows to avoid choking. It tastes more bitter than he expected. He gags at least once.

“Good,” Zhao says, catching his breath. “Swallow it all down.”

When he’s sure Zhao’s finished, Zuko pulls his lips gingerly from his dick, wary of making a mess. There’s a thumb teasing at his lower lip, wiping the trail of spit away.

“Thank your commander for the privilege of serving him,” Zhao orders, voice steady once again.

Arousal flares in Zuko’s gut. “Thank you for letting me suck your cock, Commander.”

Zhao reaches down and pulls Zuko to his feet. As their lips meet in a crushing kiss, Zhao gropes between Zuko’s cheeks, fingers sliding along the slick arousal that’s gathered there. No doubt he can feel the erection straining against his front, too; it briefly makes contact with his, and Zuko gasps into his mouth, ruts his hips.

“Agni,” Zhao whispers, voice reverent, “you’re so fucking  _ wet _ .” He nips at Zuko’s mouth. “Did you get that turned on just from sucking me off?”

“Yes, sir,” Zuko murmurs, bringing his body flush against Zhao’s. “Do I get a reward for serving my commander well?”

“Of course.” He can feel Zhao’s smile against his mouth. “Hands and knees on the bed, cadet.” 

* * *

When it’s all over, Zuko lays sprawled on his back, spent. Zhao comes to join him, head on his stomach, one heavy arm slung posessively about his husband’s legs. When his heart-rate has calmed down to gentler percussion, Zuko’s fingers, itching for something to occupy them, find their way to Zhao’s scalp and start to idly scratch. The hum the other man releases warms his naked skin. “That’s nice,” Zhao sighs. 

Zuko glances down as best as he can at this angle. He watches how Zhao, eyes closed, relaxes under his touch. He seems so different from the man who wanted to do a rape roleplay just a little while ago. Maybe that was Commander Zhao, and now this is Zuko’s husband, Zhao. It begs the question of how he acts in the Fire Nation navy versus how he acts in private, versus however many other spheres of influence he has to change himself for. 

Zuko runs his nails along the back of Zhao’s neck, and suddenly there’s an apology being spoken into his navel. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier, about the way you were dressed. It was petty of me.”

Zuko smiles where Zhao can’t see it. “You’re forgiven.”

“It was completely unbelievable, anyway,” Zhao says, eyes still closed, smirking into Zuko’s skin. “Playing it out really underscored for me how ridiculous it was to ever compare you to a soldier.”

Right. Ridiculous. Zuko runs his fingers through Zhao’s hair in whorling patterns, wishing he’d just stopped at an apology.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in my notes i referred to this scene as "the imperialist blowjob". i hope it entertained lmao


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko doesn’t have time to recover from an upsetting encounter with his father, as misfortune befalls one of his closest friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for dubious consent.

Zuko has been so blissfully relieved in the wake of Admiral Sung’s expulsion from the court that he almost doesn’t notice, but the more time he spends in the Great Hall, the less he can deny it. 

Ozai is avoiding him.

Zuko is used to bowing low at his father’s approach and receiving no acknowledgement. Ozai does not waste time on sentimental pauses when he has work to do; he’s been like that since before he even became the Fire Lord. But over the last two years, it’s been rare for Ozai to go more than a few days without stopping to command Zuko speak to some dignitary, or criticizing something about his comportment. When his father passes him by for two weeks without speaking to him, Zuko starts to worry that Ozai is angry with him - but that isn’t right, either, is it? If he were angry, he’d let _everyone_ know. Zuko’s worry over his father’s approval sits in the same spot it always has in his chest, festering and gnawing away at him until he can barely stand it. It’s a wonder he doesn’t have an open wound. 

Normally he won’t talk to Ozai except when bidden. However, one afternoon, when he’s come to the Great Hall to find Zhao, he sees his father round a corner alone. The prospect of approaching him seems daunting, especially as he looms there in the corridor like a dark shadow. But the anxiety of the uncertainty, of not knowing why Ozai has been ignoring him, is worse. Zuko resolves to be as deferential as possible, and seizes on his chance. 

Ozai is moving so quickly past him, Zuko has to turn his head as he speaks, the words chasing his father down the hall. “Father, I apologize I couldn’t be of use to you with Admiral Sung. But if you ever need my help on anything else, you can still send for me at any time. I won’t mind.” 

Ozai has passed him by several feet when he stops dead in his tracks, the thunderous sound of his footsteps falling away to a more thunderous silence. When he turns around, his eyes are fierce. “I don’t understand the purpose of your slight.”

“It’s not a slight. I only mean to say that I’m here, and I’m eager to serve you.” Zuko doesn’t normally speak this freely with his father, but the words are coming out of him too fast to catch, like nervous bile. Jittery, he bows low and says, “I’m sorry if I offended you, my lord.”

Ozai sucks his teeth. “You’re married. If you want to serve someone, go bother your husband.”

Zuko is taken aback by that. He fumbles as he addresses the floor. “I - yes, I’m married. But you’re - you’re still my lord. You’re still my _father_. I am loyal to-” 

“I don’t need _you_ anymore,” Ozai snaps. “Don’t bother me with this sort of manipulative sniveling ever again.”

Even after Ozai’s footsteps have faded into the distance, Zuko stays where he is, hunched forward in a bow, his shoulders starting to ache. There are cracks in the tile under his feet. A shame, when everything was recently redone for Ozai’s coronation. Whatever laborer made these floors should be flogged for his shoddy workmanship.

Eventually Zuko straightens his spine and sets his eyes forward, blinking when the torches on the wall start to blur. He is alone, but that’s no excuse to let himself go. He steels himself for the inevitable approach of another person, staring into the hallway while he empties his mind and his heart.

* * *

Zhao, to his credit, doesn’t say a word. He stays where he is just around the corner, waiting for the moment it seems safe to move. Some luck, stumbling in on a tense father-son moment. The hall is so quiet, he’s not even sure Zuko is still there, but he’s not going to be the one to break the peace.

Eventually there are footsteps sounding from the opposite end of the hall. Someone else is coming. The spell has broken enough that Zuko is able to greet whoever it is, with not a single crack to be heard in his voice. Zhao takes this as his cue to finally emerge from the shadows, and to his credit, Zuko receives him with only a little somberness. Whether he’s surprised to see Zhao or already knew he was there, it’s impossible to tell. Zuko doesn’t mention his father at all while they eat, and so Zhao tries to leave the issue be.

However, this doesn’t banish the scene from his mind; instead, Zhao carries it with him, the image of Zuko’s quiet sadness coming to him unbidden during the small pauses of his day. Zhao isn’t about to chastise the Fire Lord for how he talks to his own son, but he wants to do… something. Wants to be the hero in some way. Meeting with War Minister Qin, he gets an idea.

“Hey - you’re going back to the Northern Air Temple soon, right? To talk with that tinkerer?”

Qin nods. “Yes, to discuss the tundra tank design.”

Zhao scratches his neck. “Can you do me a favor? While you’re there, can you grab something? Chip a small fresco off a wall, grab some pottery? I don’t know. I imagine most cultural artefacts were stolen or destroyed a long time ago, but honestly anything will do.”

Qin cocks his head. “Interested in airbender culture? I suppose that makes sense, given the expertise you showed during your pitch…”

Zhao shakes his head. “I couldn’t care less, really. It’s for Zuko. He loves that kind of thing. I want to get him a little pick-me-up.”

Qin laughs. “I can’t decide if that’s better or worse than having a taste for expensive clothes and jewelry. Of course, I can grab something. As a favor.” Something in his gaze shifts. “Which, if we’re speaking of favors… there’s that upcoming budgetary meeting concerning inter-island defense, and I can’t help but think Kirachu could afford to shave off just a _smidge_ of their military spending now that all those firebenders are getting shipped off… And if you’re deciding where to put it, well, Shuhon could always do with a little extra.”

Zhao rolls his eyes, but it’s good-humored. “A six month budget adjustment seems a steep favor for some trinket.”

Qin tuts. “Not just any trinket, but a long lost artefact of the airbenders… Oh, I see your scowling. What if it wasn’t only a trinket? I could also see about pushing the tank production a little faster than we initially suggested.”

“What does a ‘little faster’ mean? Six months?”

Qin pulls a face. “You want them to _work_ , don’t you?” But he can see Zhao starting to whinge, and quickly follows up with another ambitious offer. “How about four months?”

Finally, something worth Zhao’s attention. “If you’re being _that_ generous, I’m sure Kirachu can find some extra money to throw Shuhon’s way.”

“Of course. I was going to head out tonight, but I can delay my departure if you need to discuss the matter with Governor Darah first.”

Zhao scoffs. “No need for that. My word is perfectly good.”

* * *

In the days that follow, Zuko enters the Great Hall with trepidation. Before he would seek Zhao out the moment he arrived, but now he doesn’t want to risk crossing his father’s path. He’s not sure which would be worse; receiving more harsh words from Ozai, or being pointedly ignored by him.

Because his father rarely emerges from the deeper chambers of the Great Hall, Zuko no longer goes past the foyer, instead asking messengers to let Zhao know where he is. On the third or fourth day, he’s only just settled down to wait when a footman approaches him. 

“Apologies, Prince Zuko,” says the footman, bowing low. “I tried to catch you at the Lesser Hall, but I missed your carriage. It’s a message from Lady Mai.”

“It’s no problem,” Zuko says. “What does she want?”

“Lady Mai would like you to meet her at the Oolong Teahouse in the city at 2 o’clock. She stressed that this was a very important matter, otherwise she and Lady Ty Lee would come to meet you here.” The footman clears his throat. “She wanted me to tell you that you are _required_ to attend, but that seemed inappropriate, given the fact you are royalty and she is not.”

“No, she’s welcome to order me around,” Zuko says, waving the footman’s concern away with a flick of the wrist. He wonders why it’s so urgent. He searches his mind for a special event and comes up blank, but he’s always been useless when it comes to those sorts of details. Hopefully whatever he’s forgotten, Mai won’t be too hard on him for forgetting it. 

Zhao appears shortly after the footman’s gone. He smiles at Zuko, arm immediately curling around his waist as he ushers him off. Zuko figures he’ll eat quickly, hear whatever stories Zhao has to offer for the day, then leave. Their lunches rarely take all that long, and in order to get to the teahouse on time, he has to leave fairly soon.

The room they end up in has a wide window with a fantastic view of the outer court. There’s a settee in the corner, covered with a sheet, and a few antique-looking tables and chairs stacked high with heirlooms gathering dust. Zuko sees an old jewelry box embedded with gemstones and wonders if it used to be his mother’s. He doesn’t remember it, and that bothers him. 

It takes Zuko a minute to realize this isn’t the usual room they take lunch in. There’s no food laid out for them, no attendee awaiting their orders. He looks at his husband quizzically.

“I have two hours free,” Zhao says, lips curled mischievously. “I found this room when I was wandering around the other day, and it seemed relatively private. So I figured, you know.”

Zuko resists the cringe tugging at the corners of his mouth. It’s terrible timing. He opens his mouth to tell him so, but Zhao leans in to kiss him. The arm around his waist curls tighter, another hand coming up to guide his chin. Zuko braces his hands against Zhao’s chest, and when that doesn’t do the trick, he twists his head, managing to break the seal between their mouths.

“I can’t,” he gasps into Zhao’s cheek. “I said I’d meet some friends at two.”

“Meet them some other day.” Zhao bites his ear.

“They-” Zuko stops, winces as teeth tug on his lobe a little too harshly. “They made it seem really important.”

Zhao sighs, releasing his ear, but another second ticks by before he lets Zuko go. When they finally pull back to look one another in the eyes, Zhao is scowling.

“It’s one o’clock,” he says. “You don’t have to leave for an hour, at least.”

“The place they want to meet is more than a half-hour from the palace…”

“So you have thirty minutes free.” Zhao leans back in, stopping only when Zuko backs away. 

He’s thinking of the turtleduck pond, of his face being scraped raw by Zhao’s sideburns. “I don’t want to look like I’ve been-”

“Spirits, _Zuko_ , come on!”

“I’m sorry-”

“Thirty minutes! We can get plenty done in thirty minutes.”

Some old instinct in Zuko’s body is screaming at him, _do not let it escalate, it can get so much worse from here_. It feels impossible to calm things down when he’s hyper-aware of the bad things that happen when he opens his mouth in good faith, the wound from Ozai’s rejection still fresh.

“I can get you back later,” Zuko says, voice small because he’s unsure whether this offering is worth anything, is convinced it’ll fail before it even passes his lips. 

Zhao sighs again and stands up straight. “Fine,” he says, in a voice that suggests this is not, in fact, fine, and may be the cruelest thing Zuko could have ever done to him. He goes to sit on the covered settee, his head in his hands.

Now the silence makes the space between them feel insurmountable. Zuko doesn’t want to walk over and sit next to Zhao. He doesn’t want to hover here, either, but he also doesn’t want to leave. He knows he has to do something, but he’s paralyzed by the prospect of making the wrong choice.

Then Zhao pats the space next to him. “Come sit next to me. I don’t like you behaving as if I’m about to attack you.”

“I’m not acting like that,” Zuko mumbles, but he obeys the request anyway, relieved someone told him what to do. 

The moment he sits down, there’s a broad hand taking his, entwining their fingers. The gesture makes his chest ache. Zhao says, “It’s really nothing.”

It feels like an apology, until he takes their intertwined hands and places them on his thigh. Zuko doesn’t pull away, the heat of the leg against his palm seeming to burn. He wants to say something but isn’t able to push a single word past his teeth.

Zhao says, “Don’t make me beg,” and inches the hands a little higher up his thigh. With the hand that’s free, he reaches down to unbutton himself, the ministrations slower one-handed, racking up Zuko’s nerves all the while.

Zhao releases Zuko’s hand so he can pull himself free. There is a silent beat, a breath where nothing happens. Then Zuko reaches over and takes him in his hand. 

Even when soft, Zhao’s cock has a distinct weight to it. Zuko curls his fingers tighter around it and gives it a firm squeeze. Zhao sighs again, the sound not nearly as lancing now that he’s gotten what he wanted. He leans back on his hands and lets Zuko get to work stroking the full length, thumb and pointer coming to swipe and tease over the head on every upstroke. They don’t look into each other’s eyes; Zuko is focused on getting Zhao off, and Zhao is focused on getting off, tilting his head back as he closes his eyes.

The cock throbs insistently in Zuko’s hands as it grows to its full size, needy with the weight of its own blood. He runs his hand over the soft skin, feeling every vein, waiting for some kind of reaction, some hint for where to focus his energy. He thumbs the ridge beneath the head, watches Zhao shudder, and resumes stroking, making sure to tease this favored place whenever his fingers pass over it.

Precum dribbles out of the slit, and Zuko mumbles, “What if we make a mess?” 

Zhao cracks one eye open to look at him, smirks. “If you _really_ wanted an easy clean up, you could always do it with your mouth.”

Zhao’s cock stands at attention, dark and swollen with blood. Zuko bites his lower lip and holds it between his teeth.

“You don’t _have_ to,” Zhao says, but there’s a hand teasing at the back of Zuko’s neck now, playing with his hair. As if to push the subject away, Zuko picks up the pace, stroking faster. 

The hand at the back of his neck tightens its grip, but doesn’t push him down. Instead it starts to knead, catching in an accidental but sharp tug on the baby hair at the nape of his neck. The nails rake a little lower, tracing the top of his spine, and despite himself, Zuko shivers at the sensation. Fingers catch in the collar of his robe for just a moment, then the hand is skating its way down his clothed back, pressing along the bumps of his spine before it lands on his hip, starts to tug the fabric up.

“Zhao,” he says, and it’s meant to be an admonishment, but comes out as more of a plea. 

Zhao doesn’t immediately respond. Instead he pulls Zuko’s robe up and shoves his hand inside. Somehow, in the utter cacophony of fabric, he finds the edges of his loincloth. He can’t pull it all the way down the way Zuko’s sitting right now, so he says, “Lift your hips.”

Instead of standing his ground, Zuko follows the command of newfound ache between his legs and complies, angling his body so Zhao can access his lower half without issue. It’s made awkward by the fact Zhao’s reaching around his back, and requires Zuko to bear down especially hard on the hand he’s using to support his weight. 

Zhao pulls his loincloth down to his ankles, and suddenly Zuko is naked from the waist down, having to hold himself _just so_ in order to keep the fabric pooled around his waist from sliding back down his legs, to keep his hips angled so he’s not sitting on the hand now squeezing and kneading at his ass.

A finger brushes past his hole, and Zuko hates the way he shivers, presses himself back against it. “Greedy,” Zhao admonishes. “Just a second ago, you said you didn’t want this.”

A swift _smack_ to the upturned cheek, and whatever retort Zuko meant to prepare passes his lips as a feeble whimper. Zhao pinches the smarting flesh before releasing it, bringing his hand back around to Zuko’s mouth, where he offers two fingers. “Suck.”

Face burning, Zuko wraps his lips around Zhao’s fingers. Reflexively he finds himself bobbing his head as he swirls his tongue along the pads, wetting them to the best of his ability. Zhao fucks them far enough into his mouth they almost make him gag, and to Zuko’s horror, he has to stifle a moan at the sensation. When they’re wet enough, Zhao pulls them free, then wraps his arm around Zuko’s back to grab his ass again.

Another quick spank, as punishment for relaxing his pose while he was sucking Zhao’s fingers. Zuko’s hips snap up, muscles straining to hold position as Zhao finally shoves two fingers inside him. Zuko gasps from the stretch, rocks back against it.

“Don’t forget what you’re supposed to be doing,” Zhao says, thrusting up into Zuko’s hand. “The longer it takes, the later you’ll be.” 

“Yes, sir,” Zuko says, completely without thinking, and as a reward Zhao starts to finger him, brushing just agonizingly shy of his prostate with every thrust. Zuko starts to stroke his husband’s cock with renewed vigor. It may have been five minutes, or twenty, but Zuko’s lost the ability to track time, and is both anxious to get it over with and desperate to kindle the pleasure growing inside him. 

Precum can only spread so far; he focuses on the head of Zhao’s dick, teasing the slit with his thumb. It’s not flagging, but there’s also no indication Zhao is getting any closer to completion. Meanwhile, the thrusting of Zhao’s fingers, the burn from the stretch are making it impossible to focus on what to do next. If either of them had a hand free to pull his hair back, he would just do as Zhao asked earlier and take him into his mouth, lick him to a trembling completion, but even tilting his head forward a little sends a whole curtain of black hair into his face. He groans, both from the sensation of the fingers and the frustration he feels, and Zhao echoes him. Spurred on, Zuko vocalizes his pleasure, gasping and whining with every press of Zhao’s fingers inside him, keeping time with the rhythm of his wrist twisting around the head of his cock.

Zhao’s hips start to jerk and twitch, barely able to keep contact with the settee. Flooded with relief, Zuko whispers almost without thinking, “That’s it. Go on. Come for me.”

The fingers inside him stutter to a stop as cum erupts from the head of Zhao’s cock, spilling over Zuko’s fist. He keeps going, using Zhao’s own orgasm to wet the way, stroking until he wrenches a strangled noise out of his husband’s throat, until Zhao pulls his fingers out of him so he can remove Zuko’s hand from his hyper-sensitive cock.

Zuko wipes his hand on the dusty furniture cover, feeling himself twitch around empty space, his dick throbbing untouched between his legs. Zhao looks terribly pleased with himself. He snatches Zuko by the collar of his robe for a single kiss, then leans back with a smirk before it can go any further. 

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he asks.

Zuko doesn’t really have control of his face right now, so he’s not sure what Zhao sees that makes him laugh so hard - a pout? A glare? When he’s had his fill of mockery, Zhao lands a hand to the center of Zuko’s chest and pushes him so he’s lying back on the settee.

“Fine. You can finish before you leave,” says Zhao. “But you have to do it yourself.” 

In other words, give him a show. It’s an infuriating order, but there’s also something about those eyes raking over every inch of his body that makes Zuko’s skin tingle. Like a lord surveying his possessions. 

Unable to resist the call of his own arousal, Zuko stretches out as enticingly as he can, putting his body on full display as he reaches down to touch himself.

* * *

Zuko checks himself for stray wet spots approximately a thousand times on the way out of the room and finds nothing. Still, as he makes the walk out of the Great Hall, he’s convinced that there’s something about him that broadcasts what he’s been up to. It seems like every person he walks past knows, making private judgements as they lash him with their eyes.

He’s rattled when he arrives at the teahouse, about fifteen minutes late. Mai is scowling when she greets him, but when isn’t she? He’s more worried about Ty Lee. It takes her a second before her hand comes up in greeting. Her smile’s off. It barely covers her face.

“I’m so sorry I’m late - what happened?” Zuko asks, pulling out a chair to sit across from them.

Mai turns to Ty Lee. “If you’re sick of telling it all, I can do it.”

Ty Lee shakes her head, eyes fixed on the table. “No. I can. I just need a minute to get my thoughts organized. Maybe we should order, first?”

“I feel like the suspense is going to kill me if we wait for a server,” Zuko says. “Can you give me a clue?”

Her hands fidget on the table. There’s only the barest hint of pink polish on her nails, scratched away at the edges.

“...You’ll find it relatable,” Mai cuts in. “I think Ty Lee officially got the worse deal, though.”

And before Zuko can ask what she means, Ty Lee starts to talk, the words coming out of her in fits and starts. 

“One of our classmates was having this graduation party. Mai didn’t want to come with me, and you don’t really know anyone we went to school with, Zuko, so I went by myself. I’ve gone to parties by myself, like, a million times, and it’s never been a problem. 

“There was this guy there, and I kinda figured he was the host’s dad or uncle or whatever because he was _super_ old, like fifty or something, but also he was just hanging around like it was normal for him to be there. He had this really unusual purple aura, so I went up and told him about it, that I hadn’t seen an aura that color before, and he laughed and said, really? He’d always thought he was a very straightforward and boring red, a typical Fire Nation guy. And I said maybe that was true usually, but tonight, he was purple. He seemed really intrigued by that, so we got to talking. I think he asked me about the auras of other people at the party. It was a fun conversation, sure, but nothing super special that I remember that well, and after, like, twenty minutes, I wandered off to talk to some other people.

“The morning after, my parents woke me up super early. At first I thought they’d heard I’d been drinking and were mad at me, but when I got a good look at their faces, they just seemed really confused. They said there were people who had come to see me. I didn’t have any idea what _that_ could mean, so I got up and looked.

“There was like, this _entire entourage_ of people in our house. Like all kinds of colorful noblemen in crazy clothes, just lounging around our kitchen and ordering my sisters around like they owned the place. And sitting at the table was this old guy from the party!”

Ty Lee lets out a mortified noise, and covers her face. “He got down on one knee and proposed to me right _there_. I was still in my pajamas and everything. I didn’t even remember his name!”

“Such a fucking psycho,” Mai mutters. 

Zuko covers his mouth to muffle the laugh trying to force his way out of his throat, but his shoulders start to shake from the effort of it. Ty Lee sees his amusement and immediately goes into a puppy dog pout. “It’s not funny, Zuko!”

“It’s _pretty_ funny,” he strains, hand still clamped over his mouth. “It’s not like you _have_ to marry the guy, it’s just a really good story-”

He calms down rapidly once he sees the grave looks on Ty Lee and Mai’s faces.

“Ty Lee,” he says. “You are _not_ seriously considering this. You have options!”

“...I haven’t told you guys, but my family’s been really struggling for money lately,” Ty Lee mumbles. “We lost pretty much everything when the Earth Kingdom took Chameleon Bay back… I don’t understand it, but all our investments were tied up in the colonies there. The thing is, until they get back on their feet, my parents have been trying to figure out how to provide for me and my sisters, and there _are_ seven of us. It’s not exactly easy…”

“But the war will turn around,” Zuko insists. “We conquered Omashu.”

Ty Lee shrugs, not meeting his eyes. “It’s not just about the war. I think even if we conquered the whole world tomorrow, my moms really blew it with our finances. They’ve been fighting like crazy lately. This guy’s offering them a really big engagement gift if I’m willing to marry him.”

Zuko tries to keep the desperation out of his voice, but it’s hard. He’s worried for her. “You don’t have to do this just because your parents want you to!”

Mai scoffs, crossing her arms. “That’s real rich, coming from you, Zuko.”

He scowls back at her. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Do I really have to spell it out for you? If anyone was going to be sympathetic to Ty Lee about her parents pressuring her to marry somebody, I’d think it’d be _you_.”

He _is_ sympathetic, but the comparison insults him deeply. He didn’t just get married because Ozai told him to. He got married for the unity of the Fire Nation. He got married for a vital political purpose. He tries to articulate this, but all that comes out of his mouth is, “But Mai, this guy is _fifty!_ That’s so gross!”

“Please stop arguing,” Ty Lee begs. “I’m so anxious already, this is making it worse!”

Mai and Zuko quiet down, trading guilty looks. Servers have been hovering around their table for about ten minutes now, buzzing close when it seems there’s a break in the tension, then flitting away as if smacked when the girls start up all over again. None of them have had anything to eat, so that’s frankly making the upset worse. 

Ty Lee groans. “Spirits. It was just one dumb little conversation. I wasn’t inviting the guy to take whatever he wanted!” She makes a nest of her arms and rests her face there, braid nearly smacking a glass of water off the table as she hunkers down to pout. “I have _six_ omega sisters. I didn’t think I’d have to deal with all this pressure to get married.”

“Then you shouldn’t have been so lovable and charming,” Mai deadpans. Even as distressed as she is, that seems to tickle Ty Lee; she reaches out to nudge her friend on the shoulder. Mai blushes and coughs, looking away. “Anyway. I’m not at all surprised somebody is trying to force you to marry them, I’m just surprised it wasn’t… you know.”

“...Hey.” Zuko sits up. “Speaking of… What do you think she’d do, if she knew someone else was trying to marry Ty Lee?”

Ty Lee raises her head slowly from her arms, fixing Zuko with a wary look. “With how we left things, I don’t know, but… she’s never liked to share, even if it’s stuff she doesn’t want anymore. I’d _imagine_ she’d be super mad. Maybe mad enough to banish him. Or kill him, even.”

There’s a shiny look in Ty Lee’s eye, like she’s seriously considering it. Mai’s hands slam down on the table, startling all of them.

“You are _not_ asking Azula for help,” Mai says, firmly.

“She could be the perfect person to end all this,” Zuko says. “Who wouldn’t give up if the crown princess put her hat in the ring?”

“But at what cost?” Mai points out. “So Ty Lee can trade one unwilling engagement for another?”

Ty Lee sighs. “This really sucks. I don’t want to marry this guy, but I don’t want to let my family down, either.”

“Maybe there’s a third option,” Zuko says. He doesn’t have a follow up as to what that could be. The three sink into pensive silence, and during this opportunity a waiter finally arrives, distracting them from their unpleasant task for at least a few minutes.

* * *

“His name is Huo Keohso. Have you heard of him?”

Iroh leaned back to scratch his beard. “I’m familiar with the Keohsos, of course. They’re fairly prominent. But I don’t recognize Huo.”

They were seated by a window, their arms painted in the warm hues of the coming sunset. There was tea set out on the table for Iroh, of course, an aromatic blend Zuko thought smelled much more delicious than it actually tasted, and a bowl of pickled plums that had stained the tips of his fingers purple. A servant girl came in briefly to light candles, before ducking out of the room to respect their privacy.

Zuko chewed his lip. “Apparently he’s been in the colonies for the last ten or so years. Maybe you two missed each other.”

“That sounds possible,” Iroh agreed. “How has a man his age remained unmarried for so long?”

“Ty Lee said he was really focused on his mercantile operation, but Mai thinks he’s hiding another wife in the colonies.”

“Mm, I have heard of polygamy happening on the outer edges of the empire, but I think that’s mostly a rumor.” Iroh paused to take a sip of his tea. “What was the relation, again? Why was he at that party with all those young people?

Zuko tapped his finger to the table, trying to remember the strand of relatives this Huo person belonged to. “He ended up being... the cousin of the dad of the boy who hosted the party, or something like that?”

Iroh nodded, hummed. “I hope you’ll forgive me for saying this, Zuko, but even though I’m very sorry for your friend, this is simply a fascinating story.”

“Yeah,” Zuko sighed. “I just really wish it had happened to someone else. It’s awful to think Ty Lee could be forced to marry someone she didn’t choose.”

Iroh coughed into his cup. Zuko frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Wrong pipe,” Iroh replied, voice hoarse.

“Don’t drink so fast you choke…” Zuko sighed, rolling a plum between his thumb and forefinger. “I feel terrible. If it’s an issue of money, do you think we could give her family something?”

Iroh gave a strained noise that implied he was about to find a diplomatic way of saying _no_. “I don’t know that your father would approve such a use of palace funds, and I don’t know that her family would accept the charity.”

“It’s not _charity,”_ Zuko insisted. “It’s a stimulus that can get an important noble family back onto their feet. Isn’t that for the good of the Fire Nation?”

His uncle was struggling to come up with a rebuttal when Zhao entered the room. “Hey, you two. Having a family dinner without me?”

“Actually, we haven’t eaten yet, if you would like to join us,” Iroh said, gesturing to an open chair between them at the table. “We were just having tea and a chat.”

Zhao pulled up beside them, but he really only had eyes for Zuko. He silently appraised him, eyes sweeping over his whole body before delivering a verdict: “Your lips are purple.”

“Oh.” Zuko’s hand went to his mouth. “The plums…”

“Don’t wipe it off, it’s a good color on you,” Zhao teased. He turned to Iroh. “Do you know what they’re preparing in the kitchens tonight? I’m starved.” 

“I know they butchered a komodo-rhino, earlier,” Iroh supplied. “I could barely get through my afternoon meditation.” 

The two alphas seemed terribly concerned about dinner, but Zuko would not be derailed. He looked for the first opening he saw in their rambling about food and said, maybe a tad louder than intended, “Like I was saying - I think we should help Ty Lee.”

“Who’s Ty Lee?” Zhao asked.

Zuko frowned. “You met her a few times. She was at our wedding.”

“The gloomy one, or the peppy one?”

Zuko resisted the urge to laugh at the distinction. “The peppy one.”

“Ah. I like her.” Zhao popped a plum into his mouth. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. She’s being forced-”

“Her family’s having some money trouble,” Iroh interrupted. “Zuko wanted to make a donation, but I’m not so sure Ozai would approve.”

There was something in Zhao’s expression that now seemed a little stiff. He was still smiling, though, as he said, “Now, why would Ozai need to approve of that?”

Zuko blinked. “Well, I am an omega, so it’s not like I can conjure my own money out of thin air…”

Zhao burst into a short laugh, reaching out to pat his hair. “I _know_ that, I didn’t just arrive portside today. But I don’t understand why that’d be a concern of Ozai’s when you have _me_.”

They’d stayed in the palace, so Zuko was assuming he’d have to attend to the same rules he always had, reporting to the palace financier and thus, by default, Ozai. However, now that he was married, the control of his financial assets would have transferred from his father to his husband. Not that he was exactly brimming with his own “financial assets,” per se, but any expenditures he wanted to make would require Zhao’s approval. It was so obvious, he felt silly for not realizing sooner. 

“Apologies, Zhao, that was my misconception,” Iroh said, scratching his neck. “I assumed the boy would want to use palace funds, which even I have to get approval for before I…”

“Luckily I have my own fortune,” Zhao cut in cheerily. “And I trust Zuko to make adult decisions about his spending. If he’s so eager to bestow a little gift on his friend, I’d be more than happy to oblige.” 

Zuko’s heart swelled. “Really? That’s so generous of you.”

“Of course. Anything for you,” Zhao said, voice thick as honey. “We’ll just be careful how we set the terms of repayment. Nothing too _stingy,_ but I don’t want her feeling as though it’s a hand-out. I know some people can find that humiliating...”

“Terribly generous,” Iroh muttered. Thankfully Zhao didn’t seem to hear him, too busy preening from the gratitude his spouse was heaping on.

“This is such a relief,” Zuko was saying. “Maybe Ty Lee won’t rush into things if she has another option…”

Iroh was somewhat nervous Zhao would ask them to elaborate on the cause of Ty Lee’s money troubles. But as it was, he didn’t bother. Shortly after, they were distracted as the head kitchen maid entered and discussion of dinner resumed, with Zuko satisfied enough with how things had resolved to let the subject of Ty Lee drop for a while.

Iroh was still unsure how he felt about his nephew’s new spouse. While Zhao was comfortable spending time with him when Zuko was around, he had repeatedly turned down Iroh’s invitations to play pai sho, which made him worry that the man harbored some secret dislike for him. Although, if the debacle with the scent-blockers had proven anything, it was that the young man _was_ too busy to play, preoccupied making a name for himself in the royal court. 

Even in his prime, Iroh simply couldn’t relate to the urge to go and go and _go_ . So much work, and why? Only to earn the right to do _more_ work? Albeit, Zhao was a little young to be in direct collaboration with the war council, and as the person of most junior rank, he probably felt he had something to prove. But didn’t he ever get tired? Didn’t he want to just sit back and enjoy the perks of royal life? Perhaps Iroh and Zhao struggled to relate simply because they had little in common.

He tried not to think of the other reasons he was leary of Zhao. The stories Governor Darah had told all those years ago were… concerning. But they were not his business to divulge. Certainly not now, when things between Zuko and Zhao seemed to be going smoothly.

* * *

It came out after dinner, when they’d retired to their room. Zhao was sitting down at a desk, in the process of writing out a money order for Wei to fulfill back at the estate in Kirachu, when Zuko started to talk. That was always the problem, wasn’t it? The fact that after years of being corrected, by his father and then by Master Aloki, Zuko still hadn’t learned when to stop talking.

“This really means a lot to me,” Zuko was saying. “You’re really helping one of my best friends out of a horrible situation.”

“Think nothing of it,” said Zhao, flashing him a brief smile before returning to the task at hand.

“It’s such a relief,” Zuko went on. “When she brought up the money troubles, it just really made everything seem so hopeless, but so long as that’s solved, then maybe she won’t have to marry a total stranger.”

Zhao’s brush slowed over the paper. “...What’s this, now?” He looked up, expression puzzled. “You didn’t say anything about a marriage.”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Zuko asked. He’d genuinely forgotten which details he’d shared with Iroh and which he’d shared with his husband. When Zhao shook his head, he recounted the story of the arrangement - how Ty Lee had approached Huo Keohso at a party, his sudden proposal the following morning, and the circumstances tempting her to go through with it. 

“So you can see why I was worried. She’s trapped in an absolutely horrible situation, and I wouldn’t ever be able to forgive myself if I didn’t do everything in my power to help her,” Zuko finished.

The whole time he had talked, Zhao had listened in silence, a look of alarm dawning on his face; Zuko thought it came from sympathy for Ty Lee.

“Absolutely horrible,” Zhao repeated. “Is that how you think of me? As some fucking horrible obligation you had to fulfill?”

His voice was soaked through with a fury that shook Zuko to the bone. “What? No!”

“Your situation is not that different from Ty Lee’s, and you seem fairly determined to rescue her from it,” Zhao said. “Am I really the _worst_ possible fate you could see for yourself?”

“Zhao.” He took a moment to really feel his husband’s name in his mouth, as if in turning it over on his tongue, he’d find how to best calm him down. “Ty Lee’s situation has _nothing_ to do with ours.”

“Are you kidding?” Zhao laughed. It wasn’t a friendly laugh. “What about the _disgusting_ age gap you kept fretting over?”

“That’s different! He’s fifty,” Zuko explained. “He could be Ty Lee’s father.”

“I’m _ten_ years older than you.”

“So you’re not even thirty.”

“ _Zuko_.” He didn’t like how Zhao said his name. It sounded like a curse. “It isn’t just about exact details, it’s the similarities. You can’t twist this to pretend there aren’t any. You said he proposed to her after one conversation!”

“Well, he did.”

Zhao was so frustrated, he grabbed at the air. “ _We_ got engaged after one conversation!”

Zuko pouted. “It’s not the same. We knew when we met each other that we were considering getting married. Huo proposed to Ty Lee after he latched onto a drunken conversation at a party.”

“I think ‘latched on’ is a little unforgiving,” Zhao scoffed. “After all, she approached him. She complimented him!”

“On his _aura-_ ”

“ _Still_ , I don’t think he’s crazy for thinking she was interested. And furthermore, when I agreed to help you with this, I didn’t think she had any other way out. If she has a chance to solve this money problem on her own, I think she should do the respectable thing rather than leaning on the charity of others.”

Zuko’s stomach lurched. “But it’s not fair-”

“Not fair that she should have to get married because her parents told her to? Zuko. Come on.”

Zhao’s tone was mean. Zuko could barely keep his voice steady as he said, “I got married for the unity of a nation. I hardly think a little debt is as dire as that.”

“Not everyone is the Fire Lord’s son,” said Zhao. “Most people find money a dire enough reason to get married.”

With that, Zhao sent the money order he’d been writing up in flames. Zuko watched as the ashes of his friend’s last chance at freedom fluttered to the ground. He was faintly aware of a pressure building in his chest, pressing against his throat with a growing urgency. As he wrestled the feeling down, he realized that there was no despair to contend with, no tears to subdue.

He was angry. The sheer force of it almost startled it out of him, but there it stubbornly stayed, burning through his chi like fire at a wick.

“Fine,” Zuko ground out. “You don’t have to help me. That’s your money and it’s your right. I’ll just seek palace funds after all.” Uncle’s trepidation might be well-founded, but he had to _try_. He was steadily running out of options.

Zhao’s lip curled. “Are you saying that just to undermine me? You know for a fact Ozai won’t give you anything.”

Zuko took a step back. “What do you mean?”

“I _heard_ you talking to him the other day. You can bluff all you want about seeking his aid, but your father doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

“That’s not true!”

“Then explain what I heard, Zuko. Hm?” Zhao waited for one ugly, mocking second before carrying on. “Anything you ask for, your father’s just going to defer to me, so if I tell him not to entertain your ridiculous request, then he won’t. Like it or not, you’re under _my_ authority, not his.”

It wasn’t just the fact that Zhao was now threatening to undermine him at every turn - it was the fact he was using _this_ moment to justify it. A potent mixture of rage and heartbreak surged lava-hot to the tips of Zuko’s fingers. He clenched his hands, teeth gritted as his fingertips burned the sides of his thumbs. When the white-hot promise of fire had leapt back from his flesh and left only a terrible, stinging tenderness in their wake, he allowed himself to speak.

“You listened to that? One of the most private and humiliating moments of my life, and you just stood there and _spied on me_ as if it was some trivial court gossip?” Zuko was well aware of the way his voice was breaking. His eyes burned with tears, begging him to blink and look away, but it was the principle of the matter. He set his jaw and glared down the source of his hurt with hard eyes. “Why didn’t you say anything to me about this before?”

Some of Zhao’s indignance dissipated as he searched Zuko’s face, no doubt seeing the trembling cracks in his facade. He was the first to turn away, still scowling, a guiltiness in his expression. He knew he’d done wrong. It was why he wasn’t saying anything, wasn’t it? Because he knew there was no justification for what he’d just revealed.

Zuko couldn’t stay here. There were a thousand words, as hot as a dragon’s breath, begging to burst between his teeth, but all he allowed to pass was a muttered, “Don’t wait up for me.” Then he strode angrily out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think I'm moving updates to Thursdays. We'll see how long that sticks


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The married couple makes up after their first argument. Meanwhile, Ty Lee solves her own problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for rape

The burns Zuko gave himself were minor. He’d endured worse training with Uncle, and knew enough to disinfect and wrap them himself. Once that was taken care of, he laid down to sleep in one of the now unoccupied rooms of the Lesser Hall. By the time he realized he’d picked the one that used to belong to his parents, he was too wary of the footsteps outside his door (guards? Uncle? Zhao?) to try and find another. 

He buried himself in the white silk sheets and imagined he was looking out into the snowy vistas of the North Pole twinkling with moonlight. Try as he might to distract himself, mentally rendering the animal prints in snow, powder kicked up as they ran across the tundra, the incandescent fractals of the northern lights guiding the way, he couldn’t get his mind off the argument with Zhao. 

Zuko knew that he had a right to be angry. In fact, he wasn’t sure which upset him more: the fact Zhao had eavesdropped on the conversation with his father, or the fact he’d given absolutely no indication of it in the days following. He hadn’t extended an ounce of compassion or delicacy towards Zuko, as evidenced by the way he’d forced Zuko to be late for the teahouse in the first place. Perhaps he could count the favor Zhao was willing to fulfill in the split second before he learned the truth about Ty Lee, if that hadn’t fallen to pieces.

Speaking of Ty Lee. It still seemed like her freedom, her very _life_ was on the line, and as her friend, Zuko felt he had a right to be concerned for her. Moreover, the man who wanted to take everything from her wasn’t some long time friend of her parent, some promising young upstart commander trying to make his way in the navy, someone who her mother had had a chance to meet with and trusted enough to leave her alone with him, no - Huo Keohso was a rich _nobody,_ distant family of a - of not even a friend, but of an acquaintance! The man was a _stranger_ who had offered her little before the proposal except some money and - and a threat to her safety! He had found out where she lived and then showed up there at the crack of dawn, mere hours after they had met! Whereas Zhao had been carefully chosen for Zuko. He wasn’t some impulse decision made by desperate parents put on the spot.

And furthermore, _Zuko_ had said yes. Not just because his father wanted him to, but because - well, there was that moment in the garden, wasn’t there? When Zhao had laid himself bare in an attempt to bring him out of his shell? And hadn’t Zuko felt assured in that decision when, in a panic over his mother’s whereabouts, he’d thrown himself into Zhao’s arms, and felt them close protectively around him? This was the same man who would later defend him from Admiral Sung, so evidently he had made the right choice. The more Zuko thought about it, the more furious he became at Zhao for failing to see the depth of their engagement in contrast to Ty Lee’s. It was despicable to compare them. An insult.

Despite the swarm of worries and one-sided arguments that battered the walls of his mind, Zuko actually managed to fall asleep. He drifted in a dreamless state - was it minutes, or hours? - before he was awoken by the clatter of the screen door.

There was a burst of light from the hall, blocked only by the shape of the figure in the doorway. He could see the outline of broad shoulders, the thick arms, the topknot: it seemed Zhao had found him. Then the door clattered shut again, plunging the room back into darkness. 

Slow footsteps moved throughout the room, carefully making their way to the bed. Then a hand groped Zuko through the covers; it wasn’t a sexual touch, but a searching one. Despite being weak with sleep and somewhat annoyed that his privacy had been violated, Zuko threw the covers open. He could bear to extend one small olive branch. As soon as he felt a weight sink next to him, he tried to relax back into the soothing nothing of sleep, but he was hyper-aware of Zhao’s movements as he looked for a comfortable position.

For a time, all was quiet and still. Then Zuko’s robes shifted, almost as imperceptibly as if a stray wind had made its way under the covers. A hand was carding along the ends. Was it still a searching touch?

Zuko shimmied forward on the mattress to get out of the hand’s reach, but that only made the movements more assured, as if there was no point to subtlety now that they’d been caught. He felt the hem of his robes get pulled upwards over his thighs. A warm hand flattened on his hip, probing the flesh. Then it curled around the waistband of his loincloth. Tugged.

Zuko reached down to stop it, but he couldn’t get a good grip - Zhao shook him off easily. Zuko pushed at Zhao’s arms, then twisted his body to try to loosen his grip. Then there was a hand on the inside of his thigh, using the leverage to turn him over onto his back. 

Fingers jabbed insistently between his legs, dry as a bone with only a little more give; they seared as they entered him. Zuko tried to pull them out, but suddenly his wrists were being pinned above his head with a fearful strength.

Up until that moment, they hadn’t spoken a word to one another. Zuko’s words were frozen in his throat, and Zhao, Zhao didn’t speak so much as he snarled: “ _Stop fighting me._ ”

It was hissed through clenched teeth, loud and close. Zuko tried to make out the details of Zhao’s face in the dark - it could only be inches away from his - but his features only became distorted the longer he tried to look at them.

Zhao entered him with a painful, hurried thrust that quickly became indistinguishable from the rest. There was no pause to adjust. It seemed wrong to break the silence, but Zuko couldn’t hold back a cry of pain as the friction intensified. It didn’t sound all that different from a moan he’d make when he was actually enjoying himself. As if in response, Zhao sped up, grunts punctuating the dark in an obscene rhythm.

The way Zhao fucked him was savage, putting all of his weight into each thrust, slamming into him like he might land blow after blow in a fight. At a loss for anything else to look at, Zuko found himself staring at a white line of light on the ceiling. Was it from a crack in the hallway door, or from the window? It was a perfect shape, a defiant line of paint on an otherwise black canvas. Meanwhile, he could feel his veins of his arms swelling and tingling the longer and harder Zhao held him down. He wondered if restricting blood flow like that would eventually damage the veins, or if it would all rush back after a few minutes, as if nothing had even happened.

The thrusts lost their rhythm and stuttered to a stop. He expected to be wracked by a full-body shudder, to feel the wet spatter of cum between his legs, but instead Zhao just laid on top of him, his face in the crook of his neck. It felt damp. Maybe it was from the lips panting directly against his skin.

Then Zhao spoke. “I am sorry. Even if everything I overheard with your father was by accident, I should have told you sooner, and I shouldn't have used it against you. But I want you to hear me out about the money. You have to understand why I refuse to help you with this.”

His voice was ragged, tinged with an ugly kaleidoscope of regret and humiliation and tenderness. Zuko could hear him swallow, the words lodged like stones in his throat. “I told you that you were the best thing that ever happened to me. I need you to know that I _meant_ that. Maybe it was just some political maneuver that brought us together, but it’s more than that to me now. You’re my fate.” 

He might as well have reached into Zuko’s chest and taken his heart into blood-slick hands. Already Zuko was recontextualizing this scene in his mind: not an attack, but an impulsive act of loneliness. Zhao was not a bad man. Just one with too many feelings to contain.

“Yes,” Zuko said. “I - I understand. That’s why I said I didn’t want to compare the two. You-” He tried to say what he rehearsed in his head earlier, but it stumbled out of his mouth with little grace. “I chose you, because. You make me feel safe.”

“We didn’t _know_ we’d feel this way,” Zhao urged. “That’s what _I’m_ trying to say. You denied the possibility that any good could come of it, but you don’t know for certain that your friend couldn’t find the same thing we did. You dismissed it outright.”

No - no, that was still wrong, that was still missing a piece, but. Why it was wrong had slipped from Zuko’s grasp, even after hours of ruminating over it. So he said, “You’re right. I’m sorry I didn’t see it earlier.”

Slowly, Zhao’s grip on his wrists loosened. As if in a show of trust, Zuko left his hands where they were above his head and waited. His torso was wrapped in a tight embrace, and his thighs were starting to strain, spread wide to accommodate the other man. Still, he didn’t move. Instead he waited for Zhao to decide where this would go. 

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” Zhao said. The words were so faint, they were almost lost in the scar on Zuko’s neck. 

Because there wasn’t anything else to say, Zuko buried his fingers into Zhao’s hair and gently angled his face so he could kiss him. The movement of their lips was slow and careful, lacking any bite but the warm glow in their mouths, sparks of involuntary fire that would have broken through the dark in orange streaks of light, had either of them bothered to open their eyes. It seemed to be the right answer.

Some secret chord had been struck. The longer their mouths moved together, the more Zuko was aware of the dissonant vibrations of his body in response to Zhao’s. Everything seemed more salient in the dark. The twist of a wet tongue against his own. The tense warmth, thrumming from his hairline to his fingertips to his toes. Zhao started to move, actually stopping when Zuko let out a ragged breath and clenched his fingers over the back of his neck. Not thrusting again until the hips under his moved in silent permission.

Zuko’s staccato moans battered the dark over Zhao’s shoulder, leaving his throat without a single scrape. Whereas mere minutes ago he’d been in agony, that bracing tenseness was giving way to something else, a softer, hotter tensity that came from the tender warmth spreading throughout his body. 

He’d been so afraid. He’d been so so afraid of punishment and pain, but he realized now there didn’t have to be anything like that, not so long as he took Zhao at face value, not so long as he gave him what he wanted. He wasn’t so different from Ozai in that respect. Where they varied was in the specifics of his penance. Ozai always wanted him silent and still and so far removed that the reward of his approval felt distant as starlight. At least Zhao would hold him. Maybe they’d both grab him by the wrist and squeeze, but Zhao would stop short and cradle him through the remorse rather than let the bone snap.

Lying on top of him this way, Zhao managed to reach deep inside him; Zuko rolled his hips, felt him brush against that overly sensitive bundle of nerves again, and again, and again, his moans amplified in the dark. Teeth teased his earlobe, then tongue, and all the while he kept holding on, fingers slipping against Zhao’s flesh in the rhythm of his thrusts.

A broad hand edged up along Zuko’s thigh, reaching for his length. He intercepted the hand, intertwining their fingers as he held them just out of reach on his abdomen. Hopefully this and the darkness would hide the fact that Zuko’s cock lay soft between his legs. He felt strangely ashamed by this fact; in his heart, he knew that he wanted this, that he relished the intimacy. But beyond the occasional, distant spark of pleasure, he couldn’t make his body align with his mind. If Zhao noticed, he would say he’d finished earlier. Zuko didn’t want him to think he’d failed in some way.

The question never came. Zhao muttered a curse and it ended, a wet burst of cum right against that tender, electric place inside Zuko making him shiver all the way down to his bones. Their naked limbs tangled and tightened to one another like pieces of a puzzle box. It was impossible to tell where one of them began and the other ended.

* * *

The next day Zuko allowed himself the luxury of lying in bed late to make up for the worst night of sleep he’d had yet in their marriage. Other than Zhao kissing him on his way out for the day, his sleep went undisturbed until well past noon. When he finally crawled out of bed, he stood up and stretched his limbs in the full sunlight of the open window, enjoying the tingling feeling from the warmth and the good sleep. 

Zuko leveled a sleepy gaze about the room. Given the fact it was usually unoccupied, it was sparsely decorated. There was no sign his parents had even lived here, the only evidence being that he remembered the layout of the room and its place in the hall. 

His gaze fell on the bed, and he startled backwards a few steps. In his own room it would’ve been indistinguishable, but here, with the white sheets, the streaks of blood cut a stark contrast. He chewed his lip at the sight of them. Then in a flash, he ripped them off the bed. He couldn’t leave it to chance that the maids would know to turn this room down. He would take these - somewhere. Do something about them. 

When that was sorted, he returned to his actual bedroom. There was a note sitting on the pillow next to his, spotlighted by the soft morning sun coming through the window. The envelope was unmarked. He opened it, half expecting it to be from Zhao. 

_Dear Zuko,_

_I know you get weird when people compliment you, but I’m going to do it anyway, because I think you deserve it. Remember that time we stole your boring love letter? I’m glad I stuck around afterwards to get to know you, otherwise we may never have become friends and we never would’ve shared the great times we’ve had over the past two years. You’re a really different person from Azula, and I don’t want you to think Mai and I started hanging around you just because she ditched us. I like you for separate reasons, like how you secretly think all my book recommendations are perfect, and how you manage to hold steady no matter what. I think of you as, like, an anchor. Not to say you’re an old rusty ship anchor, but you’re really dependable. I wish I had the strength you have to do what needs to be done, but I just can’t, not even for my family._

_It turns out you were right. There was a third choice! I was thinking and thinking about how to get out of this situation, and I realized that part of the problem is how big my family is. Two parents and seven daughters! That’s so many people to support. I realized I’m not willing to marry a stranger for his money, but I figured I could at least ease their burden by making sure they have one less mouth to feed._

_Gosh, that sounds like I’m going to do something drastic - I’m okay! I promise I’m alive and I’m happy because I’m pursuing something I’ve dreamed about for a long time. But I can’t tell you what it is, or where I’m going. I don’t want Huo or Azula or anyone else to find me. Maybe when everything calms down I can come back, although I know everybody will probably be too mad at me to be my friends anymore._

_I’ve thought about it a lot, and I’m determined to make my own way. So please, please don’t come looking for me. I hope you and Mai will take care of each other, but I also hope that if one of you finds you have to leave to make your dreams possible, that you are brave enough to do it!_

_Bunches of love,_

_Ty Lee_

* * *

When his carriage arrived, Zuko barely waited for it to roll to a stop before he was dashing out of it and up the steps to Mai’s front door. Her mother was very patient when she answered, the sympathy in her face confirming the worst. She ushered him inside and led him to Mai’s room, quietly taking her leave the moment he stepped foot over the threshold.

Mai’s expression was blank, but not in the usual way. Her gaze seemed unfocused, like the shock of the news has rendered her inert. For the first five minutes, it was Zuko who did all of the talking: Did you talk to Ty Lee, personally? When did you last see her? Have you checked her home? What are her parents saying? Does Huo know?

Eventually, like a glacier melting in the sun, Mai managed to eek out responses to each of these questions. No, she did not talk to Ty Lee personally. The last she saw her was yesterday afternoon after the tea house, when they shared a carriage home. There was no indication she’d do this. Her moms and all six sisters are beside themselves. Huo hadn’t stopped by when Mai had gone over earlier, but he probably knew by now.

The whole time she talked, she looked at the floor. He couldn’t tell if she was avoiding his eyes or just disoriented. Maybe it was both.

“I’ll call the royal guards,” Zuko said, suddenly. He wasn’t sure why it took him so long to think of it. “She couldn’t have gotten that far. We’ll track her down and bring her home, safe.” He was about to walk out the door when something latched onto his wrist and held him there.

For a moment, Mai looked just as bewildered as he was that she’d grabbed him so. But she’d made her move, and she decided to commit to it. “Don’t chase her, Zuko.”

“But she could be in _danger_ ,” he insisted. 

“Zuko, she studied combat for _years_ , you know she can defend herself-”

“I don’t care what kind of combat she knows, it’s not enough! How on earth is she going to support herself when she can’t legally _do_ almost anything? What if she’s prostituting herself?”

“Ty Lee wouldn’t do that,” said Mai. “Zuko, you _seriously_ cannot chase her. She told us not to.”

He stopped tugging against her grip. She didn’t release him right away. “When did she say that? Did you get a letter, too?”

Mai blinked. “Yeah,” she mumbled. “It was… flowery. Literally flowery. She put a whole heap of dried violets in there, probably to distract me. She spent so long complimenting me that if I didn’t know what was going on with her, I’m not sure I would’ve read far enough to understand what it was all leading up to.” 

Zuko hadn’t received any flowers. He almost gave into the stab of jealousy, until he realized how petty that was. Who cared if Mai got flowers and he didn’t? Why was he focusing so hard on these weird details when the situation was so dire?

“I - if I don’t send the guards for her, Mai, then what am I supposed to do?”

She shrugged, eyes trained on the floor again. “Maybe there isn’t anything to do. Maybe we just live with it.”

* * *

Uncle was sympathetic, but he didn’t have a magic solution that would bring Ty Lee back; just a lot of proverbs about how the actions of the storm are not malicious towards on the creatures carried away by the flood, and something something about little trees that Zuko didn’t really have the patience to try to absorb. Zuko almost lashed out at him for being so calm, but that wouldn’t be fair. Instead he pressed his hands into his eyes and tried to focus on the feeling of his uncle’s fingers carding through his hair, all the while fighting to ignore the wave of fear and sadness that reared up in him every five minutes. 

Zhao avoided him at lunch, sending a messenger to say he was too tied up in meetings for the usual break. And strangely, Zuko was fine with that; despite their “makeup,” he was feeling angry with Zhao all over again, convinced that if they had acted fast enough, if they had remained in agreement, then they could’ve stopped Ty Lee from disappearing. 

“I’m not so sure you could’ve changed anything,” said Iroh. “I have a hunch that Ty Lee’s mind was made up, and nothing could have stopped her leaving.”

“Maybe,” Zuko muttered. In any case, his failure to save his friend from taking such drastic measures wasn’t the only thing on his mind. Maybe she was just upset, but there was something so strange about how Mai had acted earlier. He could be reading too much into things, but he’d known her long enough to have picked up on her tells. And he couldn’t shake the feeling she’d been avoiding his gaze not just from the shock of it, but because she knew something about Ty Lee that he didn’t.

“Zuko. Might I ask you something?” 

There was worry in his uncle’s voice. He looked up. “Yes?”

“Your hands are bandaged. How did you hurt them?”

Zuko pulled his hands from his face and looked at them. He’d forgotten. He wondered if the texture of the bandage now left imprints on his cheeks.

“I was upset about Ty Lee,” Zuko said. “My fire just jumped out of me.”

Iroh’s gaze was steady. “You burned your own thumbs?”

“I had them clenched in my fists, and I…” He demonstrated by making a fist, then winced, the pressure unwelcome on the tender skin. “I haven’t lost control of myself like that in a while. The last time would’ve been when I lit up the reception room, but… really, that was more me acting out, making a rash decision. This almost felt like the fire was coming out of me on its own.”

“I see,” said Iroh. “Perhaps we should resume some sort of exercise in control.”

Zuko wondered what Zhao would say. He still hadn’t talked to him about his firebending. “No. It’s fine. It was just the one incident, after all. It won’t happen again.”

* * *

The conviction had been growing inside Zhao since Zuko had helped secure his success with the war council. Or was it even earlier than that? Perhaps he’d known it from the moment he had spied Zuko from across the garden. Preternaturally beautiful and wreathed in scorched jasmine, a heady battlefield scent that foreshadowed the grand fate that lay before him, should he take this creature as his mate. At the time, it all seemed surface-level sexual attraction, a temporary madness brought on by the irresistible pull of heat hormones. Zhao was sure that the feeling of obsession would subside.

And yet. Some days later, in the crowded Great Hall, they had caught one another’s eye from a distance. Zuko had offered a brief, soft smile, made private by the fact that Zhao was the only one who caught it. 

_Mine_ , came the thought, so instant and possessive that Zhao was unseated by the depth of feeling behind it. In that moment he was sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Zuko was going to be the first and last great love of his life. (Toru and Kahno didn’t count. They barely counted as _people_.) 

After so grappling with his feelings, their fight had been something of a humiliation. For Zuko to scoff away the very threads of fate that had brought them together, to call out that same luck in others as a total impossibility - he’d suddenly feared that his feelings were one-sided, after all, that he was nothing more to his spouse than a grueling obligation. He couldn’t be blamed for lashing out as carelessly as he had, for saying all those things about Ozai - who, really, was the true villain of the situation! It shouldn’t be Zhao’s fault if he was quoting the words of a callous father. 

A little rough makeup sex aside, Zhao understood that he wasn’t entirely off the hook for their argument yesterday. So when War Minister Qin had caught him on his way into the Great Hall that morning, having just returned from the Northern Air Temple, it seemed the perfect opportunity. Zhao could bring the trinket Qin had procured to Zuko at lunch, and any remaining bad blood between them could be washed away. 

Or that’s how his afternoon _could_ have gone, if not for one unfortunate surprise: when Zhao exited the council chambers into the dragon-decorated anteroom, he found Governor Darah waiting for him. He had apparently come to the capital without telling anyone in advance.

Zhao leveled him with a mirthless smile. “Governor Darah. Is there a reason you saw fit to leave your duties behind on Kirachu, other than to harass me?”

The man’s jaw wobbled. “You’re going to lecture _me_ about duties to Kirachu? When you’re treating it like your personal coffer? I came as soon as I heard the results of the inter-island budgetary meeting.” 

Zhao sniffed. “Couldn’t you have simply sent me a letter, rather than abandoning your post?” 

“I knew you would ignore it. Just like you ignored the last ten.” Darah crossed his arms over his chest. “This is a complete disgrace. Your father would be so disappointed with you.”

The insult was so maudlin, Zhao couldn’t resist a laugh. “Darah, if you’re going to insult me, at least do it directly. The fact you’re hiding behind a dead man is pathetic.”

Governor Darah’s alpha status had always struck Zhao as a fluke of nature. He was the sort of man you could lose in a crowd, average of stature with a mild and unremarkable voice that gave shape to his mild and unremarkable views. Why his father had ever chosen to mentor this nobody was an eternal mystery to him. Even now, as Zhao was stealing his appointed position out from under him, Darah’s self-defense was so flimsy. A frown of disapproval and a little jab about his dead father. If he were a real man, he’d challenge Zhao to an Agni Kai, but alas, that would call for a functioning set of balls. Alpha, indeed.

Darah’s jaw worked itself in frustration. “You want to know my opinion, rather than making assumptions about what your late father would think?”

“I’d welcome it.”

“Fine, then: I think you’re in over your head. You’re under the impression that because others yield when you push them, it’s some cosmic sign of your importance. But it isn’t. You’re just a very good bully. Unfortunately for you, being a bully is not a replacement for being an actual leader, and I have a feeling that you will have to come into that knowledge the hard way.”

 _Now_ Zhao’s anger reared up inside him. “If you hadn’t been doing such a piss poor job of running Kirachu, Ozai never would have agreed to this!”

“Perhaps. But if your big brother hadn’t been the Fire Lord’s playmate, you would have never been chosen as my replacement. Don’t get cocky just because your kin could be next in line for the throne. You’ll blow things up well before then, I guarantee it.”

“Wei has nothing to - wait,” said Zhao. “What in the hell are you talking about, the throne? Are you accusing me of planning a coup?”

Governor Darah cocked his head. “Perhaps I’ve said too much. I was under the impression that because they were shouting in the middle of your wedding party, what I overheard our lord and his youngest child discussing was a matter of public record. But perhaps not.”

Before he could turn away, Zhao grabbed him by one decorated lapel and hoisted him up so that he had to stand on the tips of his shiny black shoes. Spirits, he hated the way governors and noblemen dressed, in their foppish little suits. They always stood out amongst the _real_ men of the court, those with military background.

“This is no time to be coy, Darah,” Zhao snarled. “Bully or not, I’ve got Ozai’s ear, and I can make life very difficult for you. You might as well tell me what you heard.”

Darah sighed, as though dealing with a rotten child rather than a man twice his size who could cause him great bodily harm. “I overheard the Fire Lord expressing interest in naming one of your children the heir to the throne. It could’ve just been talk; he _was_ berating the princess for her work in Omashu. Even if there is a chance one of your kin could make it onto the throne by legitimate means, I don’t think the princess will take the challenge to her power lightly.”

Zhao’s hands almost went slack from surprise. It didn’t make much sense, considering how Ozai had only days ago cast his son callously away from him, but - he had done that with the order that Zuko obey Zhao, hadn’t he? Ozai couldn’t possibly despise them _both_ all that much - otherwise Zhao wouldn’t currently hold his ever-growing position on the war council. Ozai merely respected Zhao’s authority and wanted to keep Zuko focused on his duties. Which now apparently included bearing an heir to the throne _._

Either Ozai was terribly impressed with his choice of son-in-law, or Azula had _royally_ fucked up in Omashu. Perhaps it was a little bit of both.

While Zhao was lost in thought, Darah took the opportunity to pull himself free. He brushed off his jacket, the faintest curl of disgust marring his upper lip. 

* * *

For a loss of what else to do, Zuko found his way back to the Avatar. He sifted through the mess on his desk, looking for some distractor, some comfort. He could barely focus long enough to read what was actually written, eyes skimming over the content as if the answer would reach out and grab him.

He heard the door open and close, then a greeting from Zhao. He returned it without turning around, too engrossed in his task even as he was taking in almost nothing. He heard the rustling of Zhao’s movements, heavy footsteps. The sound without sight sent him careening back eleven hours earlier, and for a moment he stood in a pitch black room, penetrated by only one line of white on the ceiling.

But the vision faded. As he reached for a document, his wrist poked out from the sleeve of his robe. There were blue and green imprints all over it, roughly the size of a grown man’s fingers.

“Your uncle told me about your friend,” said Zhao, startling him out of his thoughts. “I’m sure you’re sorry to see her go.”

Zuko nodded, but didn’t respond. By this point, he’d hashed the whole thing out with Mai and then Iroh so much that he could barely stomach anymore talk of it. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that his silence elicited a frown from Zhao. “...A little selfish, don’t you think, to run out on her family like that? I can only imagine what she would’ve done with any money we gave her. She may have run off with that, too.”

“She’s not like that,” Zuko replied. “She just couldn’t see any alternative.”

“Right. You knew her best, I suppose.” Zhao sighed, belabored. “I’m sure that _now_ you wish she’d have just married that guy - that way you could at least check in on her. Anything at all could happen to her, and you’d have no idea.”

“Stop,” Zuko said. “I’m worried enough as it is.” He thought they were done arguing about this. Isn’t that what last night was all about? He paid his penance for disagreeing with Zhao. He didn’t have to gloat. He turned to face his husband head on.

And was surprised to see Zhao was holding something out to him. A box lined with rice paper patterned in swirling prints.

Zhao’s grin was almost giddy. “I was wondering when you’d finally look. Here, open it.” 

Inside, nestled amongst a bed of silks, was a necklace. It wasn’t the delicately forged jewelry that one may expect; it held no gemstones or precious metals. Instead it was comprised of heavy clay beads whose color had faded over time. It looked ancient. Hanging from the end were three red tassels and a flat wooden amulet carved with the symbol of the Air Nomads.

“Where on earth did you get this?” Zuko uttered, nearly breathless.

“We have an engineer working out of one of the former air temples. War Minister Qin picked this up the last time he visited, on my request.”

Zuko curled his fingers around one of the beads and touched the imperfect whorls of clay. He rolled it in his fingers, felt the age of it in the grain. This object had outlived the civilization that had created it; it made his life seem terribly small and insignificant in comparison.

“I don’t know what to say,” he whispered. 

“‘Thank you,’ maybe? Or ‘I forgive you?’” The uneven edges of Zhao’s smile lifted; did Zuko detect a hint of desperation, there?

Zuko weighed the necklace in his palm. “Thank you. It’s incredible.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Zhao said, preening. “I’ll confess, I do have something else for you. It’s not a physical gift, but…” He mulled it over. “Let’s call it a path to redemption. With your father.”

“I see.” Zuko didn’t ask what he’d done that required redeeming. To Ozai, it had always seemed crime enough that he existed. 

Zhao cleared his throat. “I did want to apologize, by the way. Even if you did undermine my authority, I shouldn’t have dragged that private moment into it.”

“It’s alright,” Zuko murmured, twisting a clay bead in his hands.

“It really isn’t. It was low of me. Unconscionable. I can’t imagine my own father saying anything like that to me. But see - it’s not as if you’re of absolutely _no_ use to him anymore. Apparently at our wedding, he was telling people he’d consider naming one of our children his heir over Azula.”

“That can’t have been right.” Zuko didn’t even have the chance to be heartbroken that his only use to Ozai was married or pregnant, because he simply didn’t believe what Zhao had said was true. 

“I have it on good authority…”

“Azula’s the golden child,” Zuko cut in. “He _adores_ her. He would never.”

The smirk that slid across Zhao’s face was as thick as blood. “She’s not destined to stay golden forever, Zuko. Your father’s patience with her is starting to crack. Everyone in the royal court can see it.”

“She’ll make it up somehow. She’s a prodigy bender, and student, and soldier-”

“My, you’re protesting awfully hard,” Zhao said. “I always got the impression you and your sister didn’t really get along.”

“We don’t,” said Zuko. “I just can’t believe my father would ever choose me-” He swallowed, then corrected himself. “That he’d ever choose my children over her.”

“It isn’t for certain,” Zhao admitted. He stooped to Zuko’s height so he could better meet his eyes, hands gripping his shoulders to emphasize the weight of his words. “We have to try, though, right? This is the perfect chance to please your father and beat Azula, and you don’t even have to change what you’ve been doing.”

“But he won’t even talk to me. How would we ever bring him over to our side?” Zuko implored.

“I’ll do the work of currying your father’s favor through the war council. And you - well.” It was like looking into the mouth of a wolf shark. “Not like we were using protection, anyway.”

* * *

Later, when Zhao had gone again, Zuko decided to take his prize to his uncle, and was met with exactly the amount of enthusiasm he expected.

“It has such gravitas,” Iroh exclaimed. “You can feel how long it’s existed just by looking at it. I almost feel like I’m unworthy of its presence!”

“I know,” Zuko agreed. Then, as his uncle grabbed for it, “Hey, be careful! We were just saying how old it is.”

“Sorry, sorry,” said Iroh. He complied almost comically so, lifting the necklace from the box at a turtle snail’s pace, turning it over in his hands. “Say, this looks familiar, doesn’t it? Do you think our airbender scroll would have something about it?”

It took some time, but eventually they found it. It wasn’t just a necklace: they were prayer beads. The number of beads corresponded to a list of daily prayers that the Air Nomads would recite. There were smaller ones meant for acolytes to carry in their packs or wear under their robes, but larger beads that came with a wooden amulet were generally reserved for higher ranking members of the Air Nomads, and were worn over the clothes as a sign of their advanced spiritual training.

“So it was sacred,” said Zuko.

He and Iroh looked down at the necklace where it lay in its box. Gravitas, indeed. After a tick, Iroh said, “Let’s close the lid. I’m sure too much sunlight is bad for it.”

“But maybe it needs the fresh air?” Zuko guessed. 

“Oh, I’m not sure...” Iroh’s brow furrowed. “We were touching them a lot, earlier. Do you think the oil from our fingers could damage the beads?” He wasn’t sure how that worked, but he’d heard something like that, once.

Zuko chewed his lip. “Well, they were meant to be counted and worn, so - so they’re probably supposed to be touched.” A pause. “Right?”

It was as if the revelation at the significance of the prayer beads suddenly made them aware of how little they knew about their proper care and preservation. Zuko set the box down, first with the lid open, then with it closed when he remembered their cups of tea and became nervous they’d spill. 

They drank in silence, staring down at the closed box. Zuko wondered what sort of person used to wear these prayer beads. Obviously they were a high-ranking monk, but. What else were they like? Were they a teacher of young airbenders? Did they sit on a council of spiritual leaders? Had they fought in the last raid and died in this necklace, or did they hide it away before they went into battle, for safekeeping? As Zuko pondered this person who had been lost to time, he started to notice the surface they were using as a table. The Earth Kingdom chest his uncle had for as long as he could remember, acquired... pillaged during his infamous western campaign. Zuko placed his cup down and started to trace the gold patterns on the lid.

“Uncle. Do you ever think about the people who used to own this chest?”

Iroh blinked, looking down at where his nephew’s fingers traced. “What people do you mean?”

“The Earth Kingdom people. Like, do you ever think about what they used to put in here? It could’ve been clothes, or… or anything, really, that they wanted to keep safe. Maybe they even meant to pass whatever was inside down to other members of their family. But now their things are gone, and the box that was supposed to protect them is in a foreign country.”

“No,” Iroh said faintly. “I suppose I hadn’t thought of that.”

The hurt on his uncle’s face made him want to take it all back. “I’m sorry. It was a stupid thing to say.”

“Don’t apologize, Zuko. I needed to hear it.”

“But it upset you…”

Iroh shrugged. “If we only say things to please the people around us, we risk losing important opportunities to grow and to learn.”

The chest had always reminded him of Lu Ten. Now he found himself imagining another little boy in a far off place, decked in greens, climbing over it and inside it, playing with the lock until his mother scolded him and he stopped. He wondered if that imaginary family would even be alive today, or if they’d have been wiped clean much like his own. Given how he’d left the Earth Kingdom territories he’d raided, there certainly wasn’t a father remaining to mourn them.

* * *

There wasn’t anyone he could give them back to, so Zuko cleared a drawer in his desk to keep the prayer beads safe. He tried to resist the urge to take them out, but every once in a while he would get lost in the turmoil that surrounded him until he was suddenly back at his desk, beads in hand, counting until he calmed down. Because he didn’t know the real prayers that went along with them, he improvised. The ministration was soothing.

Zhao asked, once, why he never wore the necklace. His gaze was so steely, so serious that Zuko stuttered over an answer for a solid five seconds before his husband broke the illusion with a laugh.

“Of course I don’t expect you to wear that old thing,” Zhao scoffed. “Spirits, if you wanted to accessorize, I’d get you something a little more modern. But it is weird you don’t display it, at least.”

It was an opportunity to tell the truth. To speak to his discomfort in owning an artefact so sacred to a culture swallowed by time and tragedy.

All Zuko ended up saying was, “I want to keep it from getting sun damaged. It’s so precious, you know.”

“But you _do_ like it?” Zhao pressed.

“I do,” Zuko promised. “I hope you’ve given my gratitude to Qin, too. Such an extraordinary place, to be able to freely visit - I can only imagine what it was like to walk through the temple and find this.” His voice was weighed down by wonder and jealousy in kind.

Zhao cocked his head. “You know, I could always talk to Qin about taking us over to the Northern Air Temple someday.”

Zuko’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

The prospect was thrilling - although the airbender scrolls had a few spare illustrations of the nomads’ living arrangements, most of what Zuko pictured was based on pure conjecture. He desperately wanted to see it for himself. Even though the Air Nomads had been gone for so long that the new Avatar couldn’t have _possibly_ lived among them, Zuko still felt that to step foot in that space would give him insight into the young airbender. 

And yet. “It just - it feels so strange to go to an abandoned temple. We can’t even ask permission because the people who used to hold it sacred aren’t around to give it anymore.”

Zhao gave a derisive little laugh. “Such a sensitive heart. The Air Nomads being dead is all the more reason not to worry about permission - without them, it _isn’t_ sacred anymore. It’s just a crumbling old building.” 

Zhao took Zuko’s chin in hand, a gesture most would find brimming with condescension. “Do me a favor? Don’t worry over the details. Let yourself look forward to this.”

Zuko stifled the flare of annoyance in his chest, telling himself that Zhao only meant to be affectionate. He made himself nod, and only then did Zhao release him.

* * *

If they were unaware of Huo Keohso before, it seemed impossible to ignore him, now. He had begun the search for Ty Lee in earnest, papering the capital in posters of her face and calls for the help of anyone with a background in tracking to help him find her. 

Once, Zuko got a glimpse of Huo from afar. He and Mai were out in the city together, and she had stopped in her tracks, her eyes suddenly deadly. Zuko had followed her gaze to an older man with a salt-and-pepper goatee, handsome in the way a villain in a play often is. His smile was as warm as a bonfire, and he was handing out flyers, telling passers-by of the tragic loss of his beloved fiancée. (“Never mind they weren’t officially engaged,” Mai muttered under her breath.)

Mai was the first to start referring to Huo’s search as a “hunt.” When they’d returned to the privacy of Mai’s home, Zuko wondered aloud how Huo hadn’t redirected his attention to one of Ty Lee’s sisters. “Maybe it’s not all surface-level attraction, if he won’t take the obvious replacement…”

“There’s no way in hell he loves her when they barely met. He’s just being stubborn,” Mai insisted. Her eyes still had that unfocused quality to them, but at least she had the energy to scowl again. “He can take out as many ads as he wants to, confessing his love and begging her to come home, but if he really cared, he’d back off. It’s his way of bullying her into his arms. He’s exerting control.”

She gave a frustrated sigh, idle hands rising to prod at her temples. “Spirits - I never thought I’d get sick of Ty Lee’s face. I want to rip up every poster I walk past. It all makes me think of _him_ , how he drove her away.” 

“At least she wasn’t exaggerating, when she said she couldn’t tell us where she was going,” Zuko supplied.

“Yeah, fat consolation that is.” She meant it come out angry, but there was a hitch in her voice. It broke his heart.

“I’m having a hard time guessing where she could’ve gone,” Zuko admitted. “We were friends, but you know Ty Lee. She never talked about anything serious. Aside from telling me she wanted to join the circus in Shuhon when she was eight, she’s never shared any _real_ ambitions with me.”

Mai stiffened. “Maybe Ty Lee just didn’t feel comfortable confiding anything real in _you_ , Zuko.”

Zuko allowed himself to wilt the tiniest bit. “I just meant that I don’t have any leads...” He watched her from across the table, the steam from their cups rising into the air like barriers between them. “Do _you_ have any idea where she could be, Mai?”

“No.” Mai raked her hands over her face. “Let’s talk about something else. Your husband. You were saying a couple weeks ago you felt like you didn’t know him, yet. Is that still true?”

Mai never seemed to say Zhao’s name. It was always _your husband_. A sharp edge to each consonant.

“It’s coming along,” Zuko said. “He told me he loved me for the first time. Sort of - really he said he was _falling_ in love with me.”

Mai looked like she’d been slapped. “Have you two even fought yet?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Zuko asked, aghast.

“The first fight is a major relationship milestone. Generally it happens _before_ the love confessions, so you can know you’re sure.”

“We don’t fight,” Zuko said. 

Ty Lee’s disappearance must really be messing with Mai; she didn’t seem to detect the lie at all, or at least, not enough to press him on it. “Well,” she said, “maybe that’s a good sign, if you’re not at each other’s throats. Still, it feels early.”

Zuko pushed away the defensive feeling rising up in him. “I guess. But when you _know_ , you might as well not hold back, right?”

“ _Do_ you know?” Mai asked. “Are you in love with him?”

He faltered. “I... didn’t say it back to him.”

Suddenly there was a warmth in her eyes he hadn’t seen in months. “Hey - that’s alright. You don’t have to say it back. There are all these expectations around the right way to do it, but...” 

“I want to love him,” Zuko cut in. “And I think I could, someday. I just don’t yet.”

Mai didn’t respond, watching him with a sort of naked grief that made him sick to see. “Do you think that’s childish of me?” he asked her. “It’s not like it’d be pointless, if we didn’t fall in love. We got married for a reason. That reason is always going to be there. But if I loved him, it would be more than me fulfilling a duty. I mean, duty is fine, duty is enough, but….”

He watched her swallow. “You want more than duty. If you can have it.” Her voice was flat.

“Yes,” Zuko said. “Exactly.”

Mai chewed the inside of her cheek. “Well, you deserve more. I hope you get it.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azula comes home. All hell breaks loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive wanted to do an azula-focused chapter for so long that i saved up a bunch of plot points for it, so this baby clocks in as the LONGEST one in the fic!

_ The mad king of Omashu is no match for her. He may smile and laugh with everything she throws at him, but she can tell he’s getting tired; that last blast of rock missed her by a mile. If she can just get him around the corner where her men are waiting, then they can ambush him. She grins at the thought so hard that her cheeks hurt - it’s not like that this idiot’s enthusiasm is contagious, but she’s thrilled by the hunt, imagining what it’ll be like to finally burn that smile off his buffoonish face.  _

_ Then comes the first wind. It tosses her hair into her eyes, which throws her off for about a half a second, but it’s not like she’s never encountered weather before. She just becomes a little more careful with her fire, moves her body so she’s facing the source of the gust. _

_ She just barely has a chance to register the shock of gangly teenage limbs tattooed in blue, the orange wind-tossed robes. The smile. Such a strange fight, in retrospect - everyone involved is smiling, including this newcomer.  _

_ The newcomer gives her a cheerful wave before blowing an outright monsoon into her face. _

* * *

Azula woke from her nightmare gasping as if the Avatar had sucked the very air from her lungs. She’d been dreaming of this utter embarrassment for the last month and had thought that her return to the Fire Nation would resolve the issue. She was free of the infuriatingly bumpy roads, torn up by continuous earthbending; the sickly green shades draped over every surface; the bland and tasteless food. But still, the mistakes she’d made abroad haunted her over hundreds of miles of ocean.

If she had to guess, she’d say it was a little after midnight; she had an  _ excellent _ internal clock and was usually right about these sorts of things, but a walk through the halls to check how low the candle clocks had burned wouldn’t hurt. She was too restless to lie back down. And if she was up, anyway, she might as well see if Uncle was about. He’d probably dote on her if he knew she was having nightmares. It was an annoying prospect, yet perhaps the price she had to pay to get him to brew something up that could get her back to sleep.

The moon sat high above her in the inky dark sky, watching as she made the walk across the palace grounds. She held a small flame in the palm of her hand, held close enough to her face that any guards on duty could make out her identity. When she finally arrived at Iroh’s door in the Lesser Hall, it only took three knocks for him to answer. 

He blinked slowly, but it didn’t look weary; he just seemed surprised to see her. “Good evening, Azula. What are you doing up so late?”

“I could ask you the same question,” she deflected haughtily.

“Such is retirement,” he sighed, stepping aside to let her in. “I nap all day, then I can’t sleep by the time night rolls around. Then I stay up all night, so I fall asleep during the day…” 

“It’s unnatural for a firebender to be nocturnal,” she breezed. She invited herself onto his bed, noting how tightly the covers were tucked. He hadn’t even tried to lay down yet.

He chuckled. “I suppose. But there’s something so  _ serene _ about looking out into the night and seeing only the moon look back at you. There’s a private communion of sorts…”

He shut the door behind her, then paused there with an expectant look. She cleared her throat. “Well. If you did want to make yourself useful, I’d like to know if there’s anything in that herbalist bag of tricks that can knock a person out.”

He scratched his beard. “I think so. Wait just a moment.” She watched as he moved about his room, gathering ingredients from tins on shelves before setting them to brew in his teapot. There wasn’t a hearth, but that was no trouble for a firebender; he held the kettle in the palms of his hands and heated it until it glowed. 

He looked up from his ministrations only once. “To clarify - I trust you’re looking for a sleep aid, and not something that could be used on another person?” 

His suspicion infuriated her, even if it was well-earned. “ _ Yes _ ,” she spat. “I just can’t sleep. I keep having terrible dreams.”

“About what?”

She still hadn’t told Uncle about her encounter with the Avatar. It could arguably be of strategic advantage to clue him in, considering the fact he was well-versed in spiritual hogwash. But if she told him, he might tell her brother, and she didn’t want to include Zuko in this. Not so long as he was married to a slimeball pursuing his own Avatar hunt.

Iroh provided her with an out. Eyebrows knitted and voice lowered with worry, he asked, “It’s nothing to do with your father, is it? Are you frightened he’ll find out you haven’t presented yet?”

“Yes.” Azula snapped it, to make the lie that much more realistic. “You don’t have to whisper - it’s not like he can hear us.”

Given the kettle he was currently heating up, he couldn’t reach out in his usual gesture of grandfatherly commiseration. He gave her a doting pout to make up for it. “You’re still young, Azula. Have patience.”

“Please,” she scoffed. “That’s easy enough advice for some wretched commoner, but it’s an absolute travesty that the crown princess should be behind all her peers. I’m supposed to be better than everyone, and here I’m well past the age most teenagers present. What in the hell could be  _ taking _ so long?” She brought her fist down on the bedpost to punctuate her point. The whole display was more earnest than she meant it to be. 

“Zuko didn’t present right when he turned sixteen,” said Iroh. Then, before she could protest her superiority to her brother, “Nor did your father, for that matter.”

That was curious. “You must be going senile. Father presented on his sixteenth birthday exactly.”

To her delight, her uncle rolled his eyes at that. “He did not. Ozai was nearly seventeen when it happened. If I remember right, he was at the Kirachu estate at the time, visiting with Wei, whose parents were very gracious about the whole fiasco. Poor thing; first ruts are mortifying enough without an audience, and anything at all can trigger them. When you’re an adult, at least, you need an omega in heat to get started. It may not have even  _ had _ a real trigger, considering the fact that it was just him and Wei there at the time, although even teenagers who haven’t presented may at times find themselves experimenting with-”

“I don’t need the gory details about my father’s first rut,” Azula cut in. Still, it was an interesting revelation. If it was even true. 

“What I mean to tell you is that you shouldn’t worry because there’s still time,” Iroh persisted. “And if you never present, there are other remedies we can pursue when you’re older. More permanent ones. They’ll take care of your scent, but also the parts I’m sure you’ve been most worried about - vocal pitch, muscle mass, although they unfortunately cannot make you taller...”

Azula was flabbergasted. She jumped to her feet. “Why on earth have you been wasting my time on balms when you’ve had  _ that _ at your disposal? Are you deliberately trying to undermine my claim to the throne?”

Iroh looked hurt by the accusation. “Of course not, Azula. I’ve held back on these treatments because they come with risks.”

“But it’s  _ my _ body, Uncle!” She thought Iroh was on her side, yet he’d been keeping this from her. She glared daggers at him, and was  _ not _ cowed by that sad look deepening the wrinkles on his stupid old face.

He sighed. “I’m sorry, Azula; I should have at least given you the chance to weigh the consequences yourself. So I’ll tell you now.

“You have two options, although they are essentially the same in how they work: gemsbok bull’s oil and camelephant oil. In addition to the benefits I already listed, these treatments could also, in  _ theory _ , trigger a rut. 

“But as I said, there are also risks. Even in small doses, these treatments have a strong chance of causing sterility, which increases the longer you take them. Obviously this would not be of concern if you were a beta, but it could be a serious problem for an alpha or an omega.”

So he hadn’t been hiding anything out of spite. He’d been worried about her ability to produce an heir. She felt the anger smoldering in her veins calm to ash. “Well. Although I’m still annoyed you hid this from me, you were right to assume I wouldn’t go barreling into a solution that could cost me my legacy. So I  _ suppose _ no real harm has been done here.” She crossed her arms. “But from now on, no more secrets.”

“Of course.” He glanced down at the kettle in his hands. “Speaking of which - your tea is ready.”

“What’s in it?” she asked, watching him pour them each a cup.

“Chamomile,” he replied. “And a little bit of honey, for flavor.”

Her jaw dropped. “Uncle! I thought you were making something  _ real! _ ”

“Tea is perfectly real. I find a good chamomile always helps me sleep.” He gave her a cheeky smile. “If it doesn’t work, I have a bottle of baiju, too. You’ll just have to mind the headache tomorrow morning.”

Azula glared into her cup, but drank its contents, anyway. Iroh laughed at her incredulity. “I suppose you wanted a magic tincture of some sort? I’m afraid I’m not  _ that _ advanced of an herbalist. I selfishly only learned the things that benefitted me. It’s a moot point now, but you know who would have been able to cook up something like that?”

“Some weird old friend of yours?” she asked, voice dripping with scorn.

“Your mother.” He smiled serenely at some distant memory playing in the back of his mind. “Ursa was a very talented herbalist. She taught me everything I know. If you ever wanted to learn what little she passed on to me…”

“No thank you,” Azula replied, curtly. “I’m destined for grander things than knowledge of a few weeds could possibly serve.

This last point would have been terribly fierce, had it not been softened by a yawn wrenching its way out of her throat. Iroh grinned at her. “I told you chamomile worked.”

* * *

Azula was heading out of the Lesser Hall when she heard it. Looking back, she was certain it wasn’t at all obvious what was going on. She heard a moan - but an awful, glottal one. She noticed the rice paper door to her immediate left was cracked open, and stepped deftly and quietly towards it to peek without catching the attention of whoever was inside.

Zhao was choking Zuko. The details were so vivid in her memory, but she must’ve taken them in in an instant: the way her brother’s back was sharply arched, bent over the foot of the bed; the visible strain in the hand Zhao had curled around his neck; Zuko’s eyes twisted shut and mouth rigid in a grimace of pain. 

Azula reached silently for the door, prepared to throw it the rest of the way open. As she did this, Zhao lowered his face to Zuko’s ear and whispered something, which evoked another raw noise - or maybe Zuko was trying to say something back? Zhao’s responding smile was nearly manic. 

“Yeah? You like that?”

The teasing rasp of Zhao’s words bewildered Azula into inaction, fingers stuttering over the wood of the door. She noticed that both of Zuko’s hands were curled around Zhao’s wrist, which would  _ imply _ a struggle, except - except they were slack, twitching where they rested. Meanwhile, only one of Zhao’s hands was curled around his spouse’s throat; the other was out of view, and - and she realized now that there was movement under Zuko’s robe,  _ rapid  _ movement, and she would have thought the swish of fabric would have caught her ear earlier, but it was so so quiet -

Zuko moaned again, and the sound turned her blood to ice. It didn’t look like he was enjoying it; it looked like it  _ hurt.  _ Was she misinterpreting this scene completely? The hand under his robes had thrown everything out of order. 

Maybe she gave a sharp intake of breath at the realization of what she was witnessing; or maybe it was a coincidence. In any case, at that moment Zhao looked up and locked eyes with her through the crack in the door. 

He had the decency to look startled at first. There was a split second where she could’ve taken control of the situation, taunting them for fucking with the door ajar and Iroh awake only just around the corner. That’s what she would’ve done in normal circumstances, for normal sex, but she felt frozen to the spot by the sight of the veins bulging in Zhao’s arm, by Zuko’s face twisted with pain, getting redder and redder by the second. 

There was that manic smile again. Zhao winked at her before returning his attention to her brother, using the hand clenched around his throat to tilt his head back, the other hand under his robe speeding up. 

Then Zhao relaxed his grip. Zuko let loose a savage, beaten cry as he pitched forward, his entire body trembling with every heaving gasp of air he took in. He clutched feverishly at Zhao, making several strangled attempts at speech before-

“Fuck me,” Zuko gasped, voice raw, “Now,  _ please _ , I want you inside me-”

Azula stumbled back from the door and down the hall, legs and hands clamoring under her like an animal fleeing danger. She ran until she was out in the silent darkness of the royal palace yard, her muscles burning from exhaustion, the cold air raking the inside of her lungs. Her blood surged through her veins and warmed her frigid limbs, all the hard work Uncle had done to relax her metabolized in an instant.

* * *

Azula prided herself on the fact she was not easily shaken. When Ozai told her that her mother had gone missing, she hadn’t shed a tear, let alone torn her way across the palace in an all-out blubbering panic. Last night’s embarrassing little incident was an anomaly. She’d been shocked because, one, she’d initially thought Zuko was in danger, and two, because she’d then learned that not only was he not in danger, he was into some completely depraved shit (although it was probably more accurate to say that  _ Zhao _ was into some completely depraved shit, and Zuko was dumbly and innocently letting himself get pulled along by it). Regardless, that was  _ her brother _ , and she didn’t need to know that much about his love life.

Zuko already already avoided her at all costs, so Azula couldn’t really tell if he knew what she’d seen, but she and Zhao crossed paths quite often, and while he had yet to confront her about what happened, literally all she could think about when he passed her by were all the fucking disgusting things he was probably doing to Zuko on a nightly basis. Ugh, Zhao was  _ definitely _ one of those men who liked to be called by his military title in bed. The thought of her brother calling his husband  _ commander _ in that breathy people-pleaser voice he used with all the old men in the royal court made her want to barf.

Still, Azula refused to look weak by avoiding Zhao. She made a point to attend the war council the next day. As Zhao himself had once put it, she needed to learn more about her enemy in order to gain a tactical advantage, and she had not forgotten her father’s (probably empty) threat to hand Zhao’s children the throne over her. She had to regain the upper hand on him, especially since her attempt to derail his northern campaign had failed. Who knew the idiot would be stubborn enough to present his case while in the middle of a rut? Or that he’d actually  _ succeed? _

Watching Zhao work turned out to be a nauseating experience. Everything he said to her father was tinged with an errant narcissism masquerading as flattery. He clearly thought he was being slick, the way he piled compliments onto everyone seated at the table, but that sort of manipulation didn’t really work if you just preened over yourself and your cleverness the whole time you did it.

Or so she would’ve thought. Except it  _ did _ work. Although her father would imperiously interject his doubts and fall into ominous silences to weigh the options, he ended up agreeing with whatever it was Zhao had said  _ a hundred percent of the time _ . Azula was astounded by his inability to see past his son-in-law’s shallow flattery. Surely her father hadn’t always been this easily swayed? Zhao wasn’t even an official member of the war council; he was just there because his role in the northern campaign required he work  _ with _ the council, yet he wormed his opinion into every matter they discussed as if it were warranted.

Azula kept mostly quiet in the meeting, more there to observe than to direct. She did pipe up once or twice, with little jabs or corrections to keep everyone on their toes. The council was full of veterans, alphas not so easily caught off balance, but they did tread around her with a certain wariness. 

Azula was beginning to think she’d gotten the full picture of Zhao when something of a squabble broke out towards the end of the meeting. Apparently the western Earth Kingdom campaign was hurting for resources, and General Hao wanted him to divert some from his siege of the north.

All at once, the brown-nosing bullshit and sleazy smiles were gone. Zhao’s face went hard as stone as he said, “Absolutely not. If you’re so desperate for cash, knock a village over.”

General Hao’s responding huff made his jowls flap. “We can’t conduct a raid every time we need resources-”

“Oh, my mistake,” said Zhao. “I was under the impression that this was  _ war _ . You’re absolutely right - we can’t be bothering the poor innocent dirtbenders every time we see fit! That would be too  _ mean _ .”

“You needn’t be childish about it,” said Hao, going sullen.

“ _ I’m _ being childish?” Zhao gave a harsh bark of a laugh. “You’re the one cowering away from the reality of the matter. If you need mounts and food, send your soldiers into whatever paltry little fishing village is closest and take everything you can find. Or are you afraid the villagers might throw their nets at you?”

“We don’t just need food - we need men.”

“Have we been occupying the west for the last thirty years or not? Put the colonies to work. They’re brimming with young soldiers ripe for the picking, and it’s not like they do much else now other than bully the locals and keep our claims warm.”

Azula cocked her head. “If we start shipping men out of the colonies, won’t that leave them vulnerable to re-invasion by the Earth Kingdom?”

Zhao shot her a look of utter contempt, but he wrangled his anger, speaking through gritted teeth. “Maybe so. In any case, the point stands that I won’t be diverting any of my resources. You can find them elsewhere, Hao.”

“But-”

Zhao slammed his hands down on the table, lip curling back from his teeth like a rabid tiger-wolf as he roared: “Find! Them! Elsewhere!”

It was amusing to Azula, but General Hao was thoroughly subdued. As was the rest of the table, for that matter; she noticed the other men pointedly avoiding Zhao’s eyes. He must throw temper tantrums like this on a regular basis. 

On the way out of the room, she couldn’t resist rankling him one last time. “Good show today, Admiral Zhao.”

She wanted to hear him correct her, say,  _ It’s commander, actually,  _ but he deftly avoided the confrontation with his own lowly rank. “Thank you, Azula. Just Zhao is fine. No need for honorifics now that we’re family.”

“That’s  _ your _ preference,” she quipped. “I personally think you should refer to me solely as ‘Crown Princess.’”

His lip curled back from his teeth. “You know, out of everything the royal court has been saying about you, Azula, I don’t think anyone has accurately captured how  _ funny _ you are.”

If that was a jab, it was a poor one. She already knew the royal court talked about her behind her back. Half the time she was the one who started the rumors just to see where they’d go. 

She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Yes, and you’re as even-tempered as they say. You really didn’t have to humiliate General Hao like that, but I suppose doing it in front of an audience is part of the fun for you, hm?”

She intended to walk off, ending the conversation there. However, before she could get far, he had swept up behind her, and whispered in her ear: “I won’t knock your habit of skulking in doorways if you don’t knock any of mine.” With one last flash of teeth, he had left her side and jogged ahead, calling out in greeting to someone else just down the hall so she couldn’t get a last word in. 

* * *

The sun beat down on them from on high, heating Azula’s skin to tingling and strengthening the fire that licked at her fingertips. Even if she were not so advanced that she could sense other firebenders merely by their chi, she could pick them out of the group by how tall they now stood under the sun’s rays. It was hard not to feel spiritual on a day like this - or so Uncle was saying. He kept going on and on about how temperate and beautiful it was, as if this wasn’t the norm in the Fire Nation. Azula spared him an eye roll; she had to admit, it was a welcome change from the harsher seasons of the Earth Kingdom. Just a day ago she’d been drenched in rain.

They were in one of the courtyards adjoining the Great Hall. Her father was holding one of his increasingly rare luncheons, the yard brimming with the chatter of nobility as they drifted from table to table sampling the food laid out. They’d all come to see the Fire Lord, but he hadn’t arrived yet, despite things being well under way. She was just pondering going back into the cold shadows of the palace to search for him when she looked up to see Zuko descending the stairs towards the rest of the group.

He’d become like a stranger to her. Obviously he couldn’t keep the baby face forever, no more than she could keep hers. But she wasn’t solely discomfited by the way adulthood had refined his features. When picturing how Zuko used to move, she thought of their childhood fights, his unsure bending, the desperate way he’d lunge towards his foes when he fought; now he walked with his back erect and hands folded before him, immeasurably graceful. For all intents and purposes, he looked like a pretty pull-along doll, gliding through the grass towards them. The sight irritated her, so she decided to break it.

“Zuzu!” she called out, loud as possible. “Zuzu, oh, that beautiful smile on your face makes you look  _ just _ like Mother.”

In fact, he hadn’t been smiling at all, his expression borderline solemn. Still, it had the intended effect: his face slid into an outright scowl at the mere mention of Ursa. Upon closing the distance, he graced Iroh with a nod, but purposefully ignored Azula.

“Good morning, Zuko,” Iroh greeted. “Aren’t you going to ask your sister how her return to the capital has been?”

Zuko sighed. “Azula. How are you doing?”

“Aww, thank you for taking an interest in me,” She mocked. “It’s been great. I sat in on the war council today, so I’ve been in the company of your dear hubby all morning. Charming guy. I think my ears have finally stopped ringing from his positively  _ ballistic _ outburst on the girl who brought him his tea.”

Zuko seemed unbothered by this revelation. “He has discerning tastes.”

“ _ And _ he lost it on General Hao,” Azula added.

That one tightened Zuko’s lips. “Aren’t you a little old to be tattling, Azula?”

“I’m not tattling,” she sniffed. “I’m just saying, he has quite a temper. Must be frightening to face head-on.”

“I’ve never seen it,” Zuko said flatly. Azula had to admit, his poker face had improved over the years. If it wasn’t for that  _ ghastly _ display she had observed the night before, she’d assume he was telling the truth. Remembering it nearly made her gag, yet she had to ask herself: had that solely been sexual, or was there a spark of intimidation to it? She found herself eyeing his neck in search of bruises, swelling, but there were none. It helped that he kept his hair long - choking would mark the back of the neck and the ears, but that was all hidden under a curtain of black silk.

“Oh come on,” Azula huffed. “You expect me to believe that ticking time bomb of a man always comes home in a perfect mood? You haven’t argued  _ once?” _

“No,” said Zuko. “We haven’t.”

Zuko may have learned to hide his tells, but Iroh sure hadn’t. From the sheer size of her uncle’s grimace, she could guess that her brother was lying, but before Azula could press either of them further, yelling erupted from the huge double doors that led to the Great Hall. The three of them looked up in time to see Zhao and another man locked in fisticuffs, jets of flame darting out with every other strike.

The timing was  _ impeccable _ . Azula wished she could bottle the strangled sound Zuko emitted when his husband and the other man went tumbling down the short flight of stairs to the lawn. They grappled in the grass, to the horror of the entire luncheon. Zhao managed to get on top and grab the other man by the throat, using his grip to slam his head onto the ground. 

With a cry of shock, Iroh ran towards them. Azula followed, but only after shooting a look at Zuko. Her brother seemed frozen where he stood, body rigid, and it wasn’t until he caught her eye that he shook off his stupor enough to follow them towards the struggle. He kept at a distance, though, which was probably wise; there was no use in someone as delicate as him getting into the thick of a scrap between a bunch of experienced benders.

Iroh tried his best to break up the fight, forcing the men apart with a rough hand. A few strands had come loose from Zhao’s topknot and the metal hairpiece marking him as a prince was askew. He barely acknowledged Iroh, still snarling at the man underneath him, a gaunt figure who Azula recognized as War Minister Qin. 

When Zuko caught up to them, face stricken with worry, the sight seemed enough to remind Zhao where he was. He recovered enough to get up off the other man, who scrambled out from under him, swiping at his bloodied nose.

Zhao patted the dust off his uniform, eyes darting from Qin to Zuko, altogether ignoring Iroh, who still had a hand on his chest. It barely seemed to restrain him; now that he was at full height, he towered over the older man considerably. Azula put herself between her uncle and War Minister Qin, who stayed sprawled on the ground. Her intent wasn’t to protect the minister; it was to stay close to her uncle, in case the direction of Zhao’s anger changed.

“I’m sorry for startling you all,” Zhao said. He was only looking at Zuko. “War Minister Qin and I were just having a disagreement.”

The calm of his voice cut a stark contrast against his disheveled appearance; it seemed to lull her brother into a false sense of security. “It’s alright,” Zuko started to say, but her uncle interrupted.

“This is not about you startling us,” Iroh snapped. “How dare you act this way in front of our subjects? The royal family is supposed to set an example. You have embarrassed your Fire Lord.”

It was rare to see her uncle so angry; Azula was impressed by his authority. But Zhao shook it off with a sneer. 

“First of all, Ozai isn’t even here, so I fail to see how I could possibly embarrass him. Secondly, our highness would do the same to anyone who insulted his honor. If this sort of behavior is good enough for him, it’s good enough for  _ me _ .”

Azula scoffed. “Are you putting yourself on the same level as the Fire Lord?”

“No, I’m merely holding myself to a higher standard than the rest of you,” Zhao replied. He glowered down at War Minister Qin. “You and I can finish this tomorrow at sunrise. I hereby challenge you to an Agni Kai!”

“Fine!” Qin spat blood into the grass, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Someone has to stand up to you, you goddamned tyrant, and it might as well be me!”

Zhao lunged forward as if to attack again, but Iroh bodily shoved him back. War Minister Qin scrambled to his feet before stumbling across the lawn towards the now frenzied crowd of the luncheon. The closer he got to the wall of people, the taller he seemed to stand, composing his expression so that soon there was no evidence of the fight in his bearing, although his face and clothes were still smeared with blood and ash. A true Fire Nation alpha, he wasn’t going to excuse himself to get cleaned up: he would now proudly wear the evidence of his grit for the rest of the event. 

“Uncle.” Azula laid a hand on Iroh’s shoulder, and the muscle spasmed in her grip. This encounter with Zhao had rattled him. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he said, without turning to her. He was glaring daggers at the side of Zhao’s head.

“Then we’re finished babysitting here,” Azula decided. “Zhao can embarrass himself however he wants, but this crowd is looking for royalty that still has its head screwed on straight. Let’s return to lunch.” 

Iroh shot Zhao one last disapproving look before he acquiesced with Azula’s request and stepped away from him. Meanwhile, she watched her brother rush to Zhao’s side, grasping at the arm of his uniform as if he was about to faint away without the support. She could hear the couple arguing even as she and Iroh walked away, their backs to them.

“Zhao, why on earth did you do that?” Zuko pleaded.

Zhao scoffed. “It’s a matter of honor, Zuko. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then help me understand. I thought War Minister Qin was your friend-”

Zhao sounded cantankerous even at a distance. “This has nothing to do with friendship. You have to stand up to alphas like these, or they’ll never respect you.”

Zuko’s voice faltered, but to his credit, he kept on. “That may be, Zhao, but an Agni Kai? How could it possibly help your career if you’re disfigured or - or worse?”

“Are you saying you don’t believe I can win this?”

“I want you to be careful! I-”

A new voice spoke, gravelly and dripping with disdain. “Why are the two of you making a scene at my luncheon?”

Azula stopped in her tracks. Oh. Oh, this was perfect. Now that her father was here, he could see what a wretched mess Zhao was making of things with his stupid dick-swinging contest. She spun on her heel in the grass to watch, ignoring the noise of concern that whisked its way out of Iroh’s mouth as he took in the same sight she did. 

Ozai had neglected to descend that last step into the grass, allowing him and the many advisors flanking him to loom over Zuko and Zhao. They looked like an impenetrable castle wall, standing evenly spaced with Ozai as the tower at their center. 

Zhao didn’t seem bothered having to crane his neck to speak, keeping his voice free of any wobble of fear. “It’s nothing, my lord. The fight you witnessed earlier between Qin and myself made its way to the lawn and startled everyone, Zuko included.”

“I see.” Ozai’s gaze settled on Zuko, who visibly flinched.

Zhao’s voice seemed to get a little louder. “It’s no matter, really - we’ve tabled our scrap for now and decided to pick up anew with an Agni Kai tomorrow. Your son was simply informing me that this wasn’t a very  _ careful _ decision to make, but then, I imagine most Agni Kai aren’t very careful, are they?” He chuckled at this. Zuko didn’t look amused; he was looking at his father like he was anticipating an attack. The hand clutching Zhao’s arm tightened its grip. 

Ozai spoke. “Zuko. You would do well not to emasculate your husband in front of our guests with your nagging. If Zhao wants to challenge War Minister Qin to an Agni Kai, he has every right to do so.” Zuko gave only the faintest nod in response.

“I’m glad you agree it’s a good idea, my lord,” Zhao said. “We’ll be holding it at sunrise, if you’d like to attend.” Azula noticed he had a hand raised to Zuko’s chest, as if to hold him back, or - no. Looking at his boots, how his feet were positioned, Zhao was ready to step  _ between Zuko and Ozai _ if need be. The notion that this slimebag had a single protective bone in his body was so unbelievable that she had no idea what to make of this observation.

“Very well.” Ozai dismissed the couple with a nod, descending the last step to the lawn. The luncheon seemed to hush as he approached. He spared Azula a nod as he passed; Iroh’s bow he waved away like a mosquito gnat circling his face.

So much for her father deflating Zhao’s ego. Somehow, of all the parties involved, the only person reprimanded for that spectacle had been Zuko.

* * *

The Agni Kai ended up being a huge bore. Even if he didn’t lose, Azula had been hoping to see Zhao stumble, maybe get that greasy smirk wiped off his face, but he barely broke a sweat. Within thirty seconds he had secured his victory, landing a fiery blow that would surely mark his former friend for life. The smattering of spectators roared with applause, and he soaked the attention up like an egotistical sponge, a flourish to his responding bows.

Honestly, Azula had way more fun watching her brother than she did the actual Agni Kai. Zuko kept his expression blank, but he kept the hands in his lap clenched into white-knuckled fists for the entirety of the fight. He didn’t even relax when Zhao landed the winning blow square to Qin’s back. As much as she disliked her brother-in-law, Azula found the move somewhat satisfying to watch; anyone stupid enough to leave their back exposed in the middle of a fight deserved much worse. 

* * *

Zhao’s victory elevated him in the eyes of Ozai and the rest of the royal court, but Azula could tell her uncle wasn’t so thrilled. He wasn’t any less courteous to Zhao after it happened (he smiled quite patiently when, after the Agni Kai, Zhao had delivered a jab at him: “How is  _ that _ for princely behavior?”), but he was slower to initiate friendly banter. Although Iroh continued to hold true to his distaste for talking behind other people’s backs, when it was just him and Azula, he let her complain about Zhao freely, no longer so quick to shush her with mollifying aphorisms.

And Azula had quite a few complaints about Zhao. In the wake of his victory, he was becoming more boisterous than usual, ordering around not just the staff, but the royal family itself (sans Fire Lord). Right now, he was on a big “family dinner” kick. He had decided that they all needed to stop holing up in their rooms and spend some time together. Azula didn’t really see the point in the exercise, but got the sense he was trying to position himself as patriarch in Ozai’s eternal absence. Just to be rude, she did whatever she could to attend as inconsistently as possible, sometimes arriving an hour or so late, and sometimes flaking entirely.

Furthermore, the way he treated Zuko drove her up a wall. In their every public interaction, he wore a veneer of devotion that was easily peeled away to discover a hive of criticisms crawling underneath. Azula observed over the course of a meal as Zhao waxed poetic about how really, truly deeply he and Zuko had bonded in such a short time, how  _ made _ for each other they were, almost as if it were preordained. How lucky Zhao was to have a spouse with no flaws, who was never wrong! Oh but he was kidding, dear, it wasn’t meant to be a slight at all, no - it’s not about the Agni Kai! But if it were, wouldn’t it be just so  _ silly, _ to still be preoccupied with that? Zhao had claimed his victory, so what was there left to sulk about? A friendship with Qin? Right, right - because Zhao’s friendships were really the source of Zuko’s bad mood. This wasn’t at  _ all _ about the fact that he’d been looking forward to going to the Northern Air Temple and now could not. Of course Zuko had a right to be hurt over his little vacation being cancelled, it just seemed such a trifle when compared to Zhao’s right to defend his  _ honor _ . Luckily Zuko was beautiful even when being pouty and stubborn, so Zhao would continue to adore him nevertheless.

“Half the time he talks to Zuko like he’s a child, and the other half like he’s his servant,” Azula told Iroh. “It’s infuriating. He should be worshipping the ground Zuko walks on. If it wasn’t for him, he wouldn’t have any of this. He’d just be some no-name captain.”

Iroh smiled benevolently. The expression didn’t make sense for the discussion. “What?” she asked, suspicious.

“Nothing,” said Iroh. “It’s just unusual to see you so worried about Zuko. I’m glad you care so deeply about your brother’s wellbeing.”

Azula rolled her eyes. “I’m not worried about Zuko, I’m frustrated with him. He needs to learn to stick up for himself. He can’t demurely nod away everything Zhao does to him.”

Iroh hummed. “I’ve expressed similar views. But your brother would argue differently; the standards for an omega in his position are not the same as ours. He doesn’t want to seem disagreeable and make a scene.”

“In our own  _ home? _ ” Azula huffed.

Iroh shrugged. “You saw how your father reacted when he tried to curb Zhao’s temper.”

She crossed her arms. “Whatever. You don’t like Zhao either, so I don’t get why you’re defending all this.”

“I’m not defending so much as offering your brother’s perspective,” Iroh clarified. It sounded like a weak technicality to Azula.

Iroh wasn’t Zhao’s biggest fan by any means, but he was loath to meddle in the young couple’s marriage. As he explained it, “It is more important that I am here to listen when Zuko needs me. These sorts of situations are delicate; if you reach for a tiger-monkey cub in its cage, it will bite at the hand that seeks to comfort it, while further backing itself into a corner. But sit back and wait with the door held open, and it will eventually walk free of its prison.”

Although she wouldn’t admit it under extreme torture, Azula had developed a begrudging respect for her uncle. In all his senile ramblings, there were occasional nuggets of wisdom to be found. However, try as he might to rebrand himself as a doddering old retiree, he had once boasted one of the most spectacular military careers in Fire Nation history, only to throw it all away at the gates of Ba Sing Se when Lu Ten died in battle. Because of this, Azula had never entirely shaken her belief that Iroh was, deep down, a coward. Especially when it came to family. 

Azula hummed. “You aren’t worried what will happen in the cage when you’ve ceased your vigil and left the zoo for the night?”

At that, Iroh let out the sort of laugh that shakes the entire body with its joy. “Excellent wordplay! It seems I’m rubbing off on you.” His smile went from jovial to secretive. “Trust me - when push comes to shove, your brother has the means to defend himself.” 

* * *

The growing discord between their uncle and his husband could only be making Zuko anxious. Regardless of the space their sprawling palace provided, regardless of the fact Zhao and Iroh weren’t  _ fighting _ so much as tensely skirting each other, the three of them were stuck living together, and that couldn’t be easy. Eager to see things escalate, Azula made a point to drop in on Zuko when she caught him alone in the garden, breaking the serenity with a loud greeting she half-hoped her brother-in-law could hear from inside the hall:

“How are you enjoying your marriage to a complete lunatic?”

Zuko’s responding look was sour. The emotion in it was fainter than it would’ve been, his once-passionate temper having been pounded into an impassive facade. However, as his baby sister and resident expert in getting on his nerves, Azula could just detect the stiffness to his mouth, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes.

“He’s not a lunatic,” Zuko huffed. He turned briefly away, pretending to be busy reading. Azula wasn’t fooled; she’d already seen him sitting there the last ten minutes, the book in his lap open to the same page, staring into the shimmering water of the turtle-duck pond. 

“Oh, so you’ve already forgotten the luncheon? I didn’t know you had selective amnesia,” Azula quipped, curling up beside Zuko. Her shoes nudged his, annoyingly close enough to be uncomfortable. He shot a brief look of contempt at them. “After seeing how  _ fiercely _ Zhao took down his own friend in that Agni Kai, I have to confess that I’m scared for your sake.”

Zuko refused to take the bait, attention fixed to the book in his lap. She watched him stare at the page, eyes unmoving, for a full thirty seconds. He was so dedicated to the act that he even turned the page.

“Zuzu, I can tell you’re not taking in a single word of that,” she said sardonically.

“Because you’re distracting me,” he said, gaze still fixed to the page.

She flattened a hand over his book, blocking the words. He finally looked at her, scowling. “What do you want?”

“ _ Well. _ A man who won’t pull his punches with a friend probably isn’t pulling punches with his spouse, either.”

His lips twisted. “I’ve already told you, we don’t argue.”

She laughed. “Zuzu, I don’t mean  _ metaphorical _ punches.”

There was a tense pause. “We’ve never done that, either.”

“Zuko, lying is  _ my _ thing.”

“I’m not lying,” Zuko said. “Zhao’s never hit me.”

“Not even one  _ tiny _ slap?”

“Not once,” Zuko affirmed. “He also hasn’t pulled my hair, or pushed me into a wall, or caned me. He’s never smacked me in the face in front of company, or broken my wrist, or called me a worthless ingrate for asking him to stop, he’s never-”

“Wait,” Azula interrupted. “When did Dad break your wrist?”

His left hand twitched imperceptibly. It’d been that one, then. “One of the Ember Island vacations. I’m not surprised you don’t remember. You were only four at the time.”

They fell quiet. Zuko pushed her hand from the page and she let it fall to her side, palms itching from the grass. Of course she  _ knew _ what their father was like with Zuko. Before he’d presented as an omega, he’d been the useless child, fussy and emotional, impulsive and untalented, incapable of even breathing in a way that didn’t spark their father’s temper. Azula had watched countless slaps, shoves, and yanks of the hair, sometimes with fear, sometimes with pleasure, always with the thought of,  _ Better him than me.  _ (How old was she, anyway, when she figured out she was in on the joke? That it was safe to laugh? That it wouldn’t be turned on her?)

Now she was thinking of Zhao’s hand held up between her father and her brother, not blocking, but. Waiting. It was a subtle gesture and, in a strange way, the most public acknowledgement of Ozai’s aggression towards Zuko that she’d ever seen. And this conversation, now, narrowing down the details of a broken wrist - these were the most words they’d ever spoken out loud about it. Something was changing.

“You’ve never ranted against Dad like that before,” Azula said. 

“I’m not ranting against him now,” Zuko said. “I’m just saying that I’m not made of glass. It’s irrational to get so worked up about Zhao putting his hands on me - which he hasn’t, by the way, not like that - when our father did that sort of thing for years.”

“I guess,” she conceded. She sucked her teeth. “Although I don’t get why we’re comparing Zhao to the  _ Fire Lord _ . Surely they shouldn’t get all the same privileges.”

Zuko shook his head. “Father wasn’t the Fire Lord when he broke my wrist. Either you’re fine with corporal punishment or you aren’t, Azula, but it’s how most alphas maintain order in their homes. If Fire Nation infantry can survive literal warfare, I think their mates can endure the occasional smack to the face when they’ve done something wrong.”

Azula heaved an exhausted sigh. “ _ Fine _ . If you’re so keen on giving your husband permission to brutalize you and your future children, then I’ll concede. Congratulations! You win a lifetime of bruises.”

Zuko’s lips visibly trembled. For a moment she was annoyed he’d start start sobbing or yelling or something else terribly dramatic. But then they split open with a peeling, mirthless sound, and then another, and another. She realized, with a start, that he was  _ laughing _ at her. 

“Aw,  _ Azula _ ,” he intoned, voice almost tender in its mockery. “You’re being so  _ sweet _ .”

She was overwhelmed with the sense that she was looking into a distorted mirror, and couldn’t help the indignant response that rose up in her. “I’m not  _ sweet!” _

“You are,” he insisted, smiling with teeth. “It’s Uncle’s influence, I’m sure. I like that he’s rubbing off on you. Whatever omega you marry will be grateful for it.” Zuko paused. Azula almost thought he was going to bring up the debacle with Ty Lee. Instead he said, “Whenever that day comes - I’m sure it’s a  _ long _ way off.”

She arched one perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Zuzu, I’m sixteen.” Then, when he leveled her with a blank stare, “The age  _ you _ got engaged?”

He blinked. “Right - you’re an alpha, though. You have more prospects than I did.”

* * *

Here’s the thing about the incident with Mai.

Azula had wanted to shove the fact Ty Lee ran off without her in her face. Maybe she’d also taunt her a little about the fact her childhood crush was married to a complete psycho; if she knew Mai well enough, she figured a few of the hints she dropped about Zuko would cause them to fight (“Why didn’t you tell me your husband’s treating you like shit! Friends are supposed to be honest with each other! I’m making this about me! Waaaaah!”), and that in itself could be entertaining enough that Azula wouldn’t necessarily mind if it resulted in some heart-to-heart bullshit where Zuko actually  _ did _ stop acting like such a wilting waif and stand up for himself.

Azula had meant for this little mind game to take place in the privacy of Mai’s home, but then she’d seen Mai stepping out of a carriage in front of the Lesser Hall as she was headed out for the day, and she couldn’t ignore the opportunity. So she’d cornered the other girl right there on the path outside, before she could even get inside the building. 

Watching the way her lips twisted ever so slightly in disgust, one eyebrow belying the contempt hidden beneath her stony veneer, Azula found herself thinking about how she had never gotten what Zuko found so appealing about Mai in the first place. She was a nudge taller than herself, which would be embarrassing to be seen in public with, and so bony, with none of the grace or softness Ty Lee had possessed. That's why, in the event she needed a wife for some political advantage and hadn’t anyone else at her disposal, Azula had relegated Mai to the role of her second backup. 

Which, come to think of it, is what caused the rift between them in the first place: Azula had been “objectifying” her friends by assigning them ranks. Whatever; like Mai wasn’t just jealous Ty Lee got ranked above her. In any case, with Ty Lee gone, Mai  _ was _ now top choice, so she should be grateful. Azula told her as such.

Mai’s eyebrow twitched. “Get out of my way, Azula.” She moved as if to pass her, but Azula put herself directly in her path, forcing her to stop.

“Are you really still mad at me, even now that you’re number one? You’re talking to the crown princess. There are omegas across the Fire Nation who would kill to be in your position.”

Mai rolled her eyes. “Boy, I’m so flattered you consider me your number one  _ back-up _ . You better catch me before I swoon.”

Said completely deadpan. Azula resisted the urge to laugh at Mai’s dry wit - they weren’t friends anymore, so it wasn’t funny. Once again, Mai tried to get past her, but Azula blocked her way.

Mai was starting to lose her composure. The cooly cocked eyebrows were now narrowed in frustration. “Is there something you want from me, or are you pissing me off because you’re bored?”

“Both,” Azula replied, smirking. “Really, I wanted to offer my condolences about our former mutual friend. Tell me, is it worse thinking about all the perverted things that old man would’ve done to Ty Lee, or the fact that  _ you’ll _ never get to do them, now?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Mai’s scowl was a poor distraction from how deeply she blushed. 

Azula smirked. “All this time, I thought you were  _ both _ defected little inverts, but I guess if Ty Lee ran off without you, she didn’t think your fist would be a good enough substitute for a real knot. And-”

She didn’t get a chance to work in all the stuff about Zuko, because at that moment, Mai slammed into her with enough force that she nearly knocked the wind out of her.

Azula quickly kneed Mai in the side in retaliation, which prompted Mai to aim a low fist at her leg, which prompted Azula to try to kick her in the face. Although the both of them were highly trained combatants and highborn daughters of nobility, they soon found themselves in a childish tussle of swinging fists and elbows that ended with them toppling to the ground. (Azula tried not to think about Zhao’s big scene at the luncheon as they tumbled through the dirt - at least  _ she _ had the decency to fight without an audience at hand.)

Fairly soon Azula was on top, the better fighter even in these ridiculous circumstances. She sneered down at Mai as she ground her down into the dirt, nearly ripping open her robes in the process, so that jackknife of a collarbone peered up at her. God, Mai really was  _ so _ ugly when she was mad, her stupid face twisted up and her monkey ears sticking out of her hair. Azula was repulsed by the sheen of sweat on her forehead, her slender neck stretched and straining, her thin lips parting to reveal a pink tongue, Spirits, how easy would it be to lean down and take her open mouth, what  _ sounds _ would she make-

Azula’s train of thought ground to a halt. She was picking up on a scent she’d never detected before. One that was heady and human, not at all like the stink of sweat, but deeper and more alluring, with the barest hints of plum blossom. She felt as though a whole new sense had been awakened and stopped struggling for just an instant; Mai bucked under her, hair coming loose, hips jutting up against where Azula was straddling her - which made Azula realize  _ she was straddling Mai _ , which hadn’t been a problem a second ago, but now there was an intense heat  _ throbbing _ between her legs, and-

There was a terrified instant where she wondered,  _ Am I going into heat? _

But the direction of her hunger wasn’t inward; she wanted to take and to ravage. She was racked by the inconsolable urge to rock forward and grind her herself down on Mai’s lap, and it was - she felt hard, and hot,  _ molten _ as she grew - in a matter of  _ moments _ , if she just held Mai by the wrists and ripped her robe open, she’d be able to fuck into the cloying, wet heat of -

No. No, they were still in the middle of the palace grounds, and Azula was not going to humiliate Mai - humiliate  _ herself _ like that. With a strength she didn’t know she possessed, she wrenched herself off Mai and sprinted into the Lesser Hall, barreling down the corridor for the first open door she saw. 

She paused on the threshold for only a split second, to make sure the room was vacant, to make sure it didn’t seem to belong to Zuko or - Spirits forbid _ \- Uncle _ , before she threw the door shut and fell to her knees in a panting, feral heap.

She’d never seen the appeal of omegas before now. They all seemed too soft, too cloying, too...  _ wet. _ The things the grown alphas around her described with lecherous glee sounded absolutely revolting to her, and she had thought herself enlightened in her disinterest. Now she realized it was just a symptom of her adolescence. She thought she’d felt arousal before, in idle moments in the middle of the night, mind and hand wandering, but this was something else entirely. 

Azula had run past someone in the corridor; she didn’t get a good look at who. It hardly mattered. So long as she didn’t make a fool of herself going into rut in public, she could stand being holed up in the Lesser Hall for a few days. With a ragged breath, she shoved her breeches down, and took her rapidly growing length in hand.

* * *

When Azula finally slid the door open, she found two items waiting for her in the hall: a plate of food and a dark green jar of balm. The food had obviously been sitting there for some time, the sauce having long since congealed over the bed of rice. The balm she recognized as the same one her uncle had prepared for Zhao to dampen the scent of his rut. She snatched it up and applied it before staggering off in search of a toilet. 

* * *

A young alpha’s first rut could be induced by anything or by nothing at all. It could come in response to an omega’s heat, or a kiss, or a few filthy thoughts, or it could come about spontaneously with no sexual stimulation at all. 

Alphas who had already presented were different. An adult’s rut was only ever triggered by an omega in heat. Thus to protect the lie that Azula had presented two years ago, the story was that the young Lady Mai had made a miscalculation when she visited the royal palace that day. Never mind that most omegas in the Fire Nation were trained to keep meticulous calendars from their first heat. Never mind that most took careful watch over their symptoms to avoid surprises. Never mind that Mai was born of nobility and had a reputation to protect. The story was that  _ she _ was the one who had been careless. 

They wouldn’t have had to push this version of events. They could’ve lied about why Azula disappeared from the Great Hall for three days. They could’ve erased the fact Mai ever visited. The servants would’ve hidden her arrival either out of their fear of Azula or their respect for Iroh.

But a servant hadn’t been the one to help Mai up off the ground and back into a carriage. A servant hadn’t witnessed Azula sprinting through the hall, or walked past the locked door that was radiating the scent of rut and put the pieces together. No - if Azula had been born lucky, either it was a finite resource she was running out of, or Zhao was even luckier than she was. 

While Azula was incapacitated in the Lesser Hall, Zhao passed on what he’d observed to her father. Iroh stepped in to clean up the details, but it was impossible to completely salvage the situation. Mai was banned from visiting the royal palace ever again.

* * *

When Azula entered the room, Iroh looked up at her with a grim expression and asked, “What did your father say?”

Azula’s lips tightened. “He didn’t seem suspicious about the version you told him.”

“Does he want you to marry the girl?”

“Only if I want to, which I don’t.” Azula almost said,  _ She’s not my type _ , but that felt like a silly thing to insist when Mai was evidently  _ so _ her type as to send her into a second puberty. 

Feeling light-headed, Azula padded over to Iroh’s bed and sat down. Didn’t he used to have more seating in here? She seemed to remember a big green chest being at the end of his bed, which they’d sit down next to and take tea. She wondered where it was now.

Iroh shook his head. “Your brother will be upset. He and that girl were close.”

“Whatever,” said Azula. “Her friendship isn't such a precious thing to lose. I was fine without it. Besides, she’s lucky her whole family wasn’t sent to the gallows.”

Very few could attack a noble girl and get away with it; as crown princess, Azula was one of them. In fact, her father was quick to distort things, painting any girl who dared to cross his heir’s path while in the throes of heat a manipulative seductress. Even with his recent frostiness towards Azula, Ozai had immediately turned against Mai, so that it had taken considerable verbal maneuvering on Azula’s part to convince him Mai’s family was too tight-lipped about their reputations to blab or extort them, and too useful to risk banishment.

Iroh’s lips tightened at Azula’s harshness, but he didn’t comment further on it. “I suppose you’re relieved,” he said. “You won’t have to rely on your uncle for help keeping up appearances anymore.”

Right. She was a real alpha, now. No more scent-changers, which were the reason she’d started hanging out with Iroh in the first place. He must be sick of spending all this time with the  _ monstrous _ Azula, who could hardly stop herself from ravaging a former friend. 

“Of course,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. “It was becoming a major hassle anyway, what with how often I go abroad now. It’s good to have this burden off my back.”

He nodded. “Perhaps this will ease some of the fracture you’ve felt building between yourself and your father. The need to constantly conceal your true self can be like poison to a relationship. Now that there’s nothing to hide, you can be more candid with him.”

She scoffed. “If he hasn’t found a new favorite.”

Iroh’s responding smile was weak around the eyes. “I assure you, Azula. Your father is as hard on Zuko as he’s always been.”

She shook her head. “I don’t mean Zuko. I mean Zhao.”

That assertion seemed to surprise Iroh. “He wouldn’t choose his son-in-law over his own children.”

“He  _ might _ ,” she huffed. “Father instantly believed him about Mai, and the Northern Water Tribe, and everything  _ else _ he says in the war council. I don’t understand how he managed to curry my father’s favor so quickly. He seems like such a phony sycophant to me, but at the wedding, Father said he’d-”

She stopped herself. Uncle always brought this out of her, the ceaseless, sentimental babbling. She hated how vulnerable it made her feel. 

Iroh searched her face, waiting patiently for her to go on. When she would volunteer no more details, he picked up a pai sho tile from his bedside table, and began to roll it in his fingers. “Ozai’s approval has always been terribly rare, which I suppose is easily conflated with it being precious. When you’re caught in its focus, you may feel the warmth of it, as light refracted through a gemstone. But just as quickly that focus can shift and fall away, leaving you in the dark.”

Azula set her jaw. “You’re agreeing he no longer wants me. Very helpful, Uncle. I feel  _ so _ soothed by your pretty words.”

Iroh set the tile down again. “I’m saying your father’s whims are heartless and fleeting. If you judge yourself based off of them, you will only ever be left wanting.”

She scoffed. “That’s easy for you to say. He’s not your father.”

“That is very true.” Iroh paused, taking a moment to weigh her words. “Was there anything else you talked to your father about, today? He kept you for a while.”

“No.” She must be losing her touch; she didn’t usually flinch when she lied. But she didn’t want to tell Iroh about her father’s ongoing mission for her. If he knew she was after the Avatar, he’d just give her another stupid speech about how she was wasting her time trying to make her father happy. 

Iroh cleared his throat. “If you’ll excuse me, Azula, I’m going to step out for a moment - I want to let the maids know to, erm. Take care of things in that room down the hall.” 

The one she’d been staying in. Face hot, she scowled at the insinuation that she’d utterly wrecked the place. “I can take care of that myself, Uncle,” Azula groused. “We’ve already established that I don’t need you mothering me anymore.” There was a flash of hurt in his eyes. She stood and walked out of the room so she wouldn’t have to see whether he tucked it away or let it crumble the foundations of his composure. She didn’t care. Maybe now he’d know better than to pity her.

* * *

There were two maids in the scullery when Azula stopped by, and they received her orders with impassive nods. As she was leaving, another maid entered the room - a beta, judging by the scentlessness of her. Once she’d pulled herself out of her deferential bow to the princess, she called out to the other maids, “Did you find the missing bedsheets from the spare room, by any chance?”

“Oh - yes, actually,” said one of the older women. “Someone burnt them up! We found them smoldering in the garden under the awning. It was the strangest thing.”

“Firebenders. Honestly…”

Normally Azula would admonish them for criticizing members of the royal household in her presence. Instead she found herself intrigued by the mystery, pondering it idly as she walked back down the hall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if i were mai i would also risk execution to attack azula for saying that shit.... 
> 
> on that note, one of the great challenges and joys of writing this chapter was balancing azula's tiny, still-growing desire to be a better person with her long-learned habits of cruelty. she says some incredibly mean shit to zuko and mai in this chapter, despite being genuinely concerned for their well-beings (and she's testy with iroh too... but he has the patience for it)


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions between Iroh and Zhao come to a head following a revelation about Zhao’s past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had a very very rough time at work last week (nothing dire, just yknow, work stress, pandemic stress), so i made myself open my inbox and re-read all the nice things you all have said about this fic. you are a fabulous bunch. thank you so much for sticking by me <3

“I’ve been offered a teaching position at the Royal Fire Academy,” Mai says. “I’m going to take it.”

The Royal Fire Academy is on Shuhon, an island away. There are farther places to go, comparatively, but for a person who barely steps foot outside the palace grounds, it seems an insurmountable distance.

She isn’t sitting in her usual slouch. Her back is ramrod straight to punctuate the seriousness of her decision. Her hands are folded in front of her on the table, and Zuko can see that the black paint has been scrubbed from her nails. They look bizarrely pale without it. 

Zuko wants to say something kind. What he says is, “Mai. You hate children.”

She sets her jaw. “Not all of them. My brother’s kind of okay.”

She’ll be teaching a number of subjects, knife combat among them. She scoffs when Zuko says she’d be perfect. “It’s a glorified self-defense course,” she insists. After all. She’ll only be teaching other omegas.

“I want to be happy for you,” Zuko says. He lets it float there a moment, untouched. “You deserve this. If it’s really what you want.”

Mai’s gaze is so flat, he wonders if it was even her idea, or if her parents insisted. She says, “I want this.” (Something in her tone gives him the odd flashback to a dark room, a hand curled around his neck, the desperate need to assuage himself as the fingers tightened. _Of course I want this_. When he snaps out of it, Mai doesn’t seem to notice he’s been off elsewhere. Maybe it’s because she’s hiding in some darkened corner of her own mind.)

“I suppose I should’ve seen this coming when Ty Lee left,” Zuko says. “I know it’s selfish, but I wish I was enough to keep you here.”

Mai’s face twists with an animal akin to anger. “You talk like you’re the one being left behind. But I can’t stand to _see_ you with him.” There is a threat in her voice, of feelings until now unspoken, bubbling furiously towards the surface. Zuko opens his mouth, maybe to intercept them, he doesn’t know, but she talks over him, dashing the hope to death. “I can’t stand to see you all moving on without me. Ty Lee is forging her own future. Azula barely ever returns to the capital. You’re married to a - a _nice_ guy.” And as her voice breaks, he remembers. Zhao found Mai after her fight with Azula. He helped her to her carriage. She _would_ think he’s nice. 

Mai says, “Everyone is moving along with their lives, and I feel like I’m _stuck_ here, standing still.”

Feeling guilty, Zuko reaches out to take her hands, saying, “I’m sorry. Let’s start over. I _am_ happy for you.”

“Thanks,” she mutters, and she doesn’t tug her hands free, but she’s also not looking at him. She keeps glancing at the doorway even though nothing’s there. Zuko imagines her parents hovering just outside their vision, listening to their conversation, waiting for some alarm. They had both come to answer the door when he arrived, had both ushered him into the reception room. They left once he seated himself, but he knows they aren’t far. It’s like he’s tainted with all that his sister did.

“Are you running from Azula?” Zuko asks.

His wording makes Mai scowl. “Wouldn’t _you?_ ”

His throat burns. “You said she didn’t get too far.”

“She _didn’t_ ,” Mai insists. “But still.”

She’s frightened. The twist of her lip is ugly with anger. It also makes her look vulnerable.

Zuko wants to tell her that leaving will only make her feel safe for so long. He wants to tell her that sanctuary will only last until the next alpha threatens her - and even then, it might not take a real offense, but a scary walk down a crowded street, or someone else’s story, or a bad dream to remind her that her safety is only borrowed. She can hole herself up in an academy for omegas, but it won’t change the fact that when she walks across the grounds to her dormitory at night, she’ll feel the weight of invisible eyes on her. 

He holds it in, because this might be one of their last conversations, and there’s no use lashing out when Mai’s made up her mind.

* * *

“And even though she’s so terrified she’s taken a job on another island, she _insisted_ she was the one who started things. Like she actually believes Azula attacking her was her fault. Can you believe that?”

“Yes, sadly,” Zhao sniffed. “We have such an unsympathetic culture towards omegas like her - I’m sure she can’t even fathom her own victimhood. I’m just glad I happened to pass by as it was all happening - who knows how far it could’ve gone if I hadn’t intervened?”

Zuko allowed his husband to curl an arm around his waist from behind, bringing his ministrations to a halt. He’d been buzzing around the room like a wasp trapped in a jar, agitated, just picking things up and straightening them. Their bedroom was starting to feel more and more claustrophobic. Maybe they needed to switch to a bigger one, or at least spread their domain beyond this single room of the Lesser Hall.

“I’m never going to forgive Azula for this,” said Zuko. “I have no idea when I’ll see Mai again.”

“I’m so sorry.” Zhao kissed his neck, then tucked his chin onto Zuko’s shoulder. “To lose her so soon after your other friend…”

“She’s just thinking about her safety.” Zuko entwined his fingers with Zhao’s. “She’s a skilled fighter, and she still felt so helpless. It’s got me thinking about the value of good combat training in general…”

Zhao hummed. “You told me she deals in knives.”

“Yes. That wouldn’t necessarily be good defense against a firebender.” Zuko wanted to frame this right. It felt like a good enough opening, one Zhao would understand. “I’ve been wondering whether _I_ should resume some sort of training…”

He trailed off, waiting for some sign of interest or encouragement from Zhao, but he’d gone quiet. “What do you think?” Zuko prompted. He wished he could see his face.

“I don’t think it’s necessary,” Zhao said after a while. “After all, you have something that Mai doesn’t.” 

Zuko frowned. “What’s that?”

Another kiss on the side of his neck, right over his mating mark. “You have _me_ to protect you.”

Zuko swallowed his disappointment. “Right.”

“Unless you don’t trust me to-”

“Of course I trust you.” How did these situations always turn into Zuko apologizing? “I just - if - _when_ we have children, they could be firebenders. Shouldn’t I be able to set an example for them?”

“Counterpoint,” said Zhao. “ _I_ can worry about setting the example. I know you trained when you were younger, so I’m confident you have the basic skillset you need to make sure our home isn’t burned down by their mischief.”

Zuko’s heart ached, but he wouldn’t be deterred. “What if I learned how to use the daos?” 

“The what?” Zhao followed his gaze to the wall where the swords now hung. He frowned, expression puzzled. “How long have you had those?”

“Mai actually got them for me, for our wedding,” Zuko said. He thought they’d gone over this before. Apparently not. “I’ve always wanted to learn to dual wield; my cousin was really good at it, and he promised to show me someday. Then...” The happy memory soured in his throat. He swallowed. He hadn’t thought of Lu Ten in a while.

Zhao chuckled, oblivious to Zuko’s grief. “Funny. I thought those were family heirlooms. Suppose I just couldn’t picture you using them.” A hand snaked up to grasp Zuko by the chin. “If you want to talk about setting an example for our children, I’m not sure I love the idea of you having a hobby where you’re wildly throwing sharp blades around. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to veto that idea as well.”

“Alright,” Zuko said, stiffly. “I guess I hadn’t been thinking of it as a safety hazard itself.” This was feeling less like an embrace and more like a headlock.

“That’s why we talk these things out,” Zhao said, his voice affectionate. “It helps to get perspective.” He gave one last squeeze before releasing Zuko altogether. When he was on the other side of the room, facing away, Zuko found his fingers tracing absent-mindedly over the ghost of Zhao’s touch.

* * *

Breakfast had become a source of dread for Zuko. While his sister generally avoided the Lesser Hall, that didn’t change the fact he still had to endure the uncomfortable energy between Iroh and Zhao. On this particular morning, Zuko had climbed into Zhao’s lap the moment he awoke, hoping to make them both late and avoid any uncomfortable confrontations with his uncle in the kitchen. But he must've gotten the timing all wrong. Or else Iroh had adjusted his sacred morning tea schedule to avoid _them_ and had misjudged. 

In any case, they were all together now, and Zhao couldn’t resist the chance to stir the pot. He reminded Zuko of a bratty child at times, reaching into the hearth for the simple reason his mother had told him not to, triumphant even as he got his fingers burned for the trouble. “Zuko was just telling me how upset he is about his friend,” he said, deflecting the onus of the uncomfortable conversation onto his spouse. “The poor girl’s so shaken, she’s been driven out of the capital to the safety of some dowdy convent.”

“It’s an all-omega school, not a convent,” Zuko corrected. The mistake barely seemed to register on Zhao’s face; he was watching Iroh for a reaction, his breakfast of grilled salmon-eel and rice porridge barely touched.

“That’s a shame,” Iroh said into his cup. “My heart goes out to her.”

Zhao cocked his head. “You say that, and yet I seem to remember you telling Ozai the whole incident was overblown.”

“He wouldn’t,” Zuko said, just as he caught the guilty look on Iroh’s face. “Would you, Uncle?”

It took Iroh a minute to find the right words to explain himself. “I didn’t want your father to judge your sister too harshly. It was upsetting, to be sure, but nothing came of it other than a little scare. Your friend’s virtue is still intact.”

“A _little_ scare?” Zhao repeated. “The girl’s running off to Shuhon.”

Iroh frowned. “We can’t help how she reacted. I only hope she’s able to find whatever peace she seeks there.”

The blame seated in his comment sent a raw, painful spark through Zuko’s chest. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from responding. 

“I suppose both parties have some responsibility here,” Zhao said. “As you’ve made perfectly clear, Azula really couldn’t help herself if the girl was on the brink of heat. Funny thing, though - I didn’t catch a whiff of it on the girl, and I even helped her to her carriage.”

“That must be a testament to your bond with Zuko,” Iroh said, smoothly. “The servants tell me her carriage reeked with it.”

From the sharp corners of his mouth, it was clear Zhao didn’t like that answer. He couldn’t very well deny his bond with his spouse. “I’d ask who told you that detail about the carriage, Iroh, but it wouldn’t be of any use. I don’t waste my time fraternizing with servants, so I’d never be able to fact-check it myself.” 

Zuko blinked, confused. “I saw Mai yesterday. She didn’t seem like she’d just been in heat.”

Zhao smiled at Iroh the way a shirshu smiles at its prey. “Do you have an excuse for that one, Iroh?” Then, when the old man floundered, “Well - perhaps it was a short heat. A rare _two day_ heat.”

In any case, Zhao was out of time and had to head off for the day. He shoved his still-full plate aside and stood up from the table, a smarmy grin on his face to suggest he was thrilled to escape the foul mood he’d created. Had literally anyone else made the claims he’d heard there today, Zuko would’ve immediately jumped down their throat - but knowing it was Iroh, he found himself staring into his food, puzzled. Why lie about Mai’s heat? Was it solely to shift the blame from Azula? But… why would they need to do that, unless she’d deliberately attacked Mai with the intent of…?

When Zhao had gone from earshot, Iroh sighed, running his hands over his face. “ _Doesn’t fraternize with servants_ ,” he repeated. “Really, now…”

He caught his nephew’s eye as he pulled his hands from his face, his expression going troubled. “Zuko. I _am_ deeply sorry about your friend.”

“It’s-” On reflex, Zuko had started to say, “It’s okay,” but he wasn’t sure that it actually was. So instead he muttered, “Thanks.”

“Please understand that I’m not defending your sister’s character for no reason,” said Iroh. “She found herself in a difficult situation.”

Zuko sucked his teeth. “She didn’t _find_ herself there, she _made_ it difficult. She attacked Mai.”

“Verbally,” Iroh clarified. “She spoke cruelly to Mai, but your friend was the one who made it physical, and while I sympathize with her, nothing would have happened if she had kept her composure.”

Zuko made himself pause, trying not to let his frustrations thread their way into his voice. “Fine, Uncle. Whatever you want to believe. But to hear Zhao tell it-”

Iroh shook his head. “Zhao walked into the aftermath. He wasn’t there.”

“Neither were _you_.”

“I was not. But your sister has told me-”

“Azula _lies_.”

“And Zhao never does?” Iroh asked. The question wasn’t angry. He asked it as one may ask after a fact: does the plum blossom not bloom in winter? 

Zuko struggled to respond - not because it was _true_ , but because his uncle had never criticized his husband so directly before. “What are you accusing him of?”

“To hear him tell it, he implies he broke up the struggle,” said Iroh. “Did Mai tell you that’s how it happened?”

“She said he helped her back to her carriage…” 

“That’s not the same thing. Did she say he pulled Azula off of her?”

Zuko frowned. Had Mai agreed on Zhao’s version, or had she just not said anything contradictory? 

“Zuko, I…” Iroh paused to weigh his words. “I appreciate that you’re trying to be devoted. But you’ve only known him for two months.”

“Two _years_ ,” Zuko corrected.

Iroh grimaced. “A few letters cannot give you the complete summation of a man.”

Zuko immediately bristled. “Well, you’ve had even _less_ chance to get to know him than I have. What do you know about Zhao that makes you so sure you should distrust him?”

“I don’t _distrust_ him, Zuko, I merely want you to-”

“What do you _know?_ ” Zuko pressed. “It has to be something, if you’re picking _Azula_ over him.”

Iroh shook his head. “Forget I said anything. It has nothing to do with this.”

Zuko’s mouth went agape. “ _What_ has nothing to do with this?”

“It would be unfair of me to bring up now,” Iroh said. “Your husband’s past isn’t my…”

 _That_ slip made Iroh fully clap a hand over his mouth. Zuko looked on, stunned; he had originally assumed Iroh was referring to some smaller fib, but the mention of his past made the comment seem so much more ominous. Iroh doubled down on his apologies, assuring Zuko it was nothing, but the damage was done. 

“You know something about Zhao you haven’t told me,” Zuko said. “That’s not fair - I’m married to him. I deserve to know whatever it is!”

Iroh cringed. “Zuko, you should ask him yourself. I really don’t think…”

“I can’t ask him if I don’t know a single detail of what you’re talking about! Please just tell me, Uncle.” When Iroh wouldn’t meet his eyes, Zuko huffed. “So you’ve sided with Azula against Mai, and now you’re keeping secrets from me about my own marriage? I don’t understand you lately!”

Zuko’s hurt must have seeped into his voice. He watched his uncle rub his face in exasperation. “Zuko, I - fine. I’ll tell you. But you mustn’t be angry at me for holding this in. It’s a - a complicated issue. One for which I’m sure I don’t have all the details.”

* * *

Twelve sharp strikes echoed through the Great Hall, the silver dragon-shaped censures that kept time having burned to the quick. When Zhao exited the council chambers, Zuko was waiting for him in the anteroom adjoining the throne room. It was an unusual sight; he tended to stay in the atrium to avoid Ozai. His amber eyes fixed intensely on Zhao’s face, his mouth a thin enough line not to betray his emotions. Zhao searched for hints as to whether this was about to be a good or bad visit, but he couldn’t divine the source of Zuko’s intensity, even as the younger man grabbed his hand and began to pull him down the hall. 

“Eager to get me alone?” Zhao laughed. Zuko didn’t respond. He didn’t pull Zhao upstairs into one of the many unoccupied rooms, instead dragging him into an alcove in a quiet hallway. Unless he was feeling particularly kinky, that probably meant this was urgent _and_ private, but not so private as to require a comfortable place to lounge.

“I’m not the first omega you’ve mated,” Zuko said, without preamble.

“Good afternoon to you too, Zuko,” Zhao replied with a huff.

“So you’re not denying it?”

Zhao snorted. “I thought we had already established the fact that I’ve had sex with more people than you. Is that suddenly a problem?”

The younger man’s jaw worked itself back and forth. “That’s not what I mean. I mean you’ve deliberately _mated_ someone before. You got a servant pregnant.”

Of all the nasty rumors floating around about his past, this was the one Zhao had least expected to encounter. His parents had worked tirelessly to suppress this story; he hadn’t even thought about Toru in _years_. “Who told you that?”

“Uncle.”

Of course. But who had told Iroh? Darah? Maybe Shu? Zuko angrily tossed his head for an excuse to break eye contact. Was it demented that all Zhao could think of in this moment was how incredible he looked? Zuko was a vision even when he was furious. Zhao wanted to smooth that damned crinkle at the corner of his mouth with a kiss.

“Let me explain myself,” said Zhao. “I know it doesn’t sound - ideal. But these things happen. I wouldn’t fault you if I found out that-”

“Uncle told me that your family forced him to end the pregnancy,” said Zuko. 

Zhao cleared his throat. “I see no problem in an omega making whatever difficult decision they need to for themselves-” 

“That’s not what it sounded like.” Zuko crossed his arms. “ _Forced._ That is the word he used. How am I supposed to not expect the worst from that?”

How, indeed. Perhaps Ozai hadn’t been paranoid at all; here Iroh was, overturning the graves of Zhao’s past in order to drive a wedge between him and Zuko. It was probably out of some twisted sense of jealousy; he loved having his pretty little nephew doting over him, and couldn’t stand that someone else had seized those attentions from him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” said Zhao. “But please - will you hear what I have to say? I don’t want our marriage to become a rabaroo court. I have a right to defend myself.”

After a pause, Zuko nodded. That was almost worse; if he’d stormed off, it’d give Zhao some time to think of how to frame this. As it was, he was being put on the spot. 

“It was just... some stupid, youthful mistake,” Zhao said, letting his exasperation seep into his voice. “We thought we were in love. The class division made it more exciting. Yes, it was partially the thrill of breaking the rules, but we also thought we were doing something revolutionary. It’s embarrassing, looking back, but I really thought I was the first rich boy to ever fall for someone beneath my station. I was a kid - we _both_ were kids.”

He heaved a great sigh. “The thing about kids, though, is that they’re not really cut out to _raise_ kids. When Toru got pregnant, I panicked and told my parents. They were furious. No matter how I insisted our relationship was mutual, they were convinced he was just after our wealth. They demanded that we separate and that he terminate the pregnancy through whatever means necessary.”

“You never thought about running away together?” Zuko asked. “With your inheritance, I’m sure you could’ve easily supported you both.”

There was that naiveté again, thinking money and connections could solve everything. “If I were to pursue that route, I’d have to _give up_ my inheritance. My parents made it clear that they were more than willing to cut ties with me if I didn’t go along with their wishes.” He searched Zuko’s face. “Maybe you consider me cowardly, not standing up to my father. But he could be… firm.”

Zuko dropped his gaze to the floor and said, “I don’t blame you.”

Zhai had him. He carried on. “At the time, it felt like the greatest tragedy I’d ever endured. I regretted it for _years_. Now that I’m older, I know it was for my own good. At that age, a child and a marriage to someone of that standing would’ve ruined my life. There’s no use wishing otherwise - if things had gone differently, you and I would’ve never met.”

“What happened to him?” Zuko asked. He looked devastated. Zhao wondered if he was projecting all that pain he felt for his omega friends onto this servant boy he’d never even met. “Did your family just… fire him, without a thought of how he’d support himself?”

Zhao feigned indignance. “Of course not. We sent him onto another family with a glowing recommendation. Everything that happened was in _his_ best interests, too. If word had gotten around, he never would’ve worked again.”

Zuko was wavering, his crossed arms looking more self-conscious now that the rigidity of his anger had poured out of him. “Still. That sounds like a difficult decision to have to make.”

Zhao shrugged again. “I wish I’d told you sooner. I _wanted_ to tell you, but I didn’t want to scare you off. I suppose I waited too long, and the opportunity was stolen from me. I have to admit to feeling a little humiliated, but I deserve it, for being dishonest with you.”

“No, it’s okay,” Zuko pushed. There came the gentle hand lighting on Zhao’s, the shiny-eyed sympathy. Of course Zuko wouldn’t stay mad at him; he was too genuine, too kind. Zhao was seized by a renewed fury at Iroh for trying to drive them apart. Like it or not, Zuko belonged to _him,_ now, and it was obvious where his loyalties lay. 

“If you don’t mind my asking, why did Iroh bring this up in the first place?” Zhao asked.

There was a flicker in Zuko’s gaze. “Well - I asked him.”

A slight, but not an unforgivable one. “How did you know to ask him about it, though?”

“It - he - he implied that he didn’t really - trust your version of events, with Azula and Mai. A-and I wanted to know _why_ he wouldn’t, and when I pressed, he told me…”

So Iroh had _deliberately_ dropped this story to make him look dishonest. Zhao swallowed the flame he felt broiling in the back of his throat. Well, if that’s how things were going to be, Zhao was going to have to start firing shots back. 

He gave a weary sigh, smoothing his hands over Zuko’s shoulders, feeling the warmth in the smaller man’s frame. “I’ve bitten my tongue until now, because I know he’s precious to you. But as of late, I’ve been feeling increasingly unwelcome in the Lesser Hall. The Agni Kai I could understand - I did make a scene, even if it was a warranted one. But now with _this..._ I can’t help but feel that there’s some hostility brewing towards me.”

“No,” Zuko urged, “Uncle means well, I know he does-”

“I understand his protectiveness, Zuko, but at times, I question his actions. The way he’s jumped to your sister’s defense at the expense of your friend… He wasn’t even there. _I_ was. And his version of events doesn’t make sense unless you consider that he’s trying to shift blame away from your sister.”

“But he wouldn’t lie like that…”

“Really?” asked Zhao. “Not even to protect someone he loved?” Zuko fell silent. One could clearly see his mind working a mile a minute - had Zhao pinpointed it exactly? Was the boy remembering some incident in the past where Iroh had lied on his behalf?

Slowly, carefully, Zhao began to sow the first seeds of doubt.

* * *

Although the sun shone brightly over the capital, Agni in all of His glory couldn’t pierce the dark shadows of the Great Hall. Perhaps some crueler spirit sought to torture them, but shortly after their confrontation, Zhao and Zuko entered the atrium to find it uncharacteristically empty, save for the fact that Iroh was milling by the great double doors.

Zhao greeted him in a booming geniality that burned hot enough to melt at the edges. “General Iroh! Just the man I wanted to see.”

Iroh gave the barest of bows. “Commander Zhao. Prince Zuko.” He tried to catch his nephew’s eye, but failed as Zhao stepped in front of him, blocking his view.

“Zuko and I just had a very _interesting_ conversation,” said Zhao, teeth flashing. “Unfortunately it didn’t break out into the full-fledged argument I’m sure you were aiming for - would you like to take the chance now to foist anymore of my failings into his lap?”

To his credit, Iroh didn’t look remotely surprised by Zhao’s confrontation. He must’ve known this was coming the moment he relayed the story to Zuko. “It was not my intent to sow discord,” he said. “I apologize if it seems I’ve meddled.”

“It doesn’t _seem_ like you’ve meddled. You have.”

Such patience in his gaze. “Yes. I have. In my defense, I was merely telling the boy the details of a story I heard-”

“A _rumor_ , really, since whoever you talked to was missing a few details. Thankfully I was able to fill Zuko in before he started thinking of me as some cantankerous baby-killer and servant-rapist.”

Iroh stiffened. “Again, I did not mean to cause upset. That is why I didn’t share this story sooner.”

Zhao’s eyes narrowed. “Ah - so you’ve been sitting on this one a while? I have to say I’m disappointed - I thought you were above court gossip, Iroh. How long have you been asking around about me? Are you just trying to dredge up as many bad stories as you can?”

He’d raised his voice, and while Iroh maintained his temper, he now had to speak up significantly in order to get a word in over Zhao. “I did ask a few acquaintances about what sort of person you are, but only because I wanted to know what sort of man my brother had selected for his son. When it concerns my nephew’s safety-”

“You’re twisting this into a concern of _safety?_ ”

Iroh’s voice rose one more imperial notch. “The nobility of this country might scoff at the mistreatment of a single serving boy, but I’m of the mind that your treatment of others reflects on your capability as a husband. If you are willing to take advantage of your power to harass-”

Now Zuko cut in. “But he didn’t do anything wrong. He explained it to me. It was a mutual relationship, and things were made complicated by his parents’ disapproval. He was just a teenager.”

“See? This is why I can’t stand you trying to invoke safety,” Zhao ranted. “You got Zuko into a panic over nothing. I would rather _die_ than cause him harm.”

“I never said that you would-”

“You _clearly_ implied it! Look, I _get_ that it’s been just the two of you for a very long time, and I get that yanking your niece and nephew around is the _only_ power you’re able to wield in this court after your Ba Sing Se fuckup cost you the crown, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t meddle in my marriage any further.”

His cruel words lanced Iroh as deeply as intended; the old man looked shaken, and at a loss for what else to do, he looked at his nephew in askance. Zuko dropped his gaze to the floor, a clear refusal to engage.

Iroh’s lips moved. From the look on his face, it was unclear if he was about to give into Zhao’s passions and apologize, or if he was going to beseech Zuko’s sympathies. In any case, he didn’t get a chance to speak. Another voice, sharp as an arrow, whisked into the fray. 

“Would you like to explain to me, Commander, why you think you have the right to talk to my uncle in that way?”

Zhao scowled. “This doesn’t concern you, Azula.”

Azula stepped from the darkness of a nearby hall, the circlet in her hair flashing as it caught the torchlight. Her expression wasn’t one of fury, but of disinterest; when her eyes fell on Zhao, they took in the details of his bearing as one might study the cracked and crumbling ground beneath their feet. 

She looked pointedly at his crown and said, “I know you think that fancy hair accessory entitles you to bully whoever you want, Zhao, but _some_ men find they have to do more than blow their load inside a member of the royal family to earn the respect of their title.”

Zhao’s jaw dropped, more out of shock than with a rebuttal prepared, but Azula carried on before he could summon a single sound of indignation.

“Let me be perfectly clear: you are not even a _speck_ of the man my uncle is. To remove his accomplishments from the annals of our history would crumble the very foundations of our great empire. Without his Western Campaign, the war would have ended decades ago. The man has gone toe to toe with a _dragon_ and won. Yet you dare to insult his honor by bringing up his _sole_ failure?

“What exactly have _you_ done for our great nation, Zhao? Fumbled around the arctic, frying defenseless savages? Blown up _one_ little rebel base? Surely you don’t think your suicide campaign against the Northern Water Tribe sets you apart as worthy of note? Nice work plagiarizing the strategies of some of the biggest failures in Fire Nation history, by the way.”

Azula flipped one loose lock of hair out of her face with a smirk. “If you’re going to come for my uncle’s reputation, Zhao, you’ll need to build up more than the pathetic footnote in history you’re currently sporting. As it stands, I couldn’t even wipe my ass with the pages it took to record your biography.”

Her eyes slid from the speechless Zhao to Zuko, who automatically flinched in fear of becoming her next target. Would she tear him open for his lack of loyalty? But she scoffed, eyes sliding just as easily away, as if he wasn’t even worth the trouble.

“Anyway,” said Azula. “I’d appreciate if, from here on out, you showed a little more respect to your superiors. And make no mistake - my uncle is _far_ superior to you.”

Zhao found his voice. “You - you little _bitch_. You think you have a right to talk down to me after your misadventure with that noble girl?”

Azula didn’t even blink, her expression more bored than anything. “Yes, I do. Misadventure or not, I conquered Omashu in a day, while you’re just some second-rate captain whose father-in-law had to hand him his promotions. I’m happy to keep castrating you in the middle of the Great Hall if that’s what gets you off, but otherwise I suggest you take your child bride and leave before an audience gathers.”

There was a pause. From his rigid posture, Zuko almost feared his husband would lash out and attack his sister - but even for all his furious impulse, he had to know what a disgrace it would be for the royal family to divide itself over such a petty argument. And what a challenge; Azula was leagues from War Minister Qin. To fight her would mean a fight to the death.

With one last scoff, Zhao stormed from the hall. Zuko hesitated only a moment before running after him, sure that it would be worse if he didn’t. He was too afraid to see the look on his uncle’s face, but as he was leaving, he did catch Azula’s eye. Her responding glare seemed to burn bright enough to brand him a traitor.

* * *

(Aloki had trained him well. Zuko was unaware of how cold he looked as he swept his way out of the room, face an unmoving mask, his chin tipped upwards. None of his turmoil showed in his bearing. He looked as though he’d made his decision unequivocally.)

* * *

Zuko found himself disoriented after the day’s events, and Zhao’s volatility in the hours that followed didn’t help. In order to avoid setting him alight, Zuko became inert, determined not to draw Zhao’s anger by saying or doing the wrong thing. 

Zuko was wracked with regret and indecision; he felt Zhao had a right to be angry, but Zuko still wished they hadn’t left things like that with his uncle. He’d been so angry at Iroh at the start - about Mai, about his favoritism with Azula, about the fact he kept drawing Zhao’s wrath. Yet as Zhao’s fury grew, Zuko had found himself shrinking away into a feeble flame, as if his husband was monopolizing whatever fire fueled their frustrations. 

Zhao’s ravings were mostly directionless, but now and again he would turn to Zuko and ask, “Can you _believe_ your sister? The nerve of what she said to me? To _us?_ ”

Zuko shook his head. Zhao thundered on. “A fucking outrage. She wouldn’t have been able to take Omashu if not for the Mon Sai campaign! Her work took a day because of _months_ of ground-work, in which _I_ played ample part.”

He looked at Zuko, who, after a moment, nodded. Zhao returned to his rant.

“That little bitch has another thing coming. I’m telling you, Zuko. If she’s going to act like that, then it’s war.”

He wouldn’t elaborate on what this “war” would entail, and Zuko bit back his protests. When his father got like this, it was usually best to wait in nerve-wracking silence until he burnt himself out. Zuko’s instincts begged him to flee rather than wait around watching, but he knew that in this case he had to stay to pick up the pieces, because one of the big differences between Zhao and Ozai was that Zhao didn’t want everyone to leave him alone when he’d finally calmed himself down. Instead he sought physical intimacy, sometimes sexual, sometimes not; the way he would pull Zuko towards him was like being caught in the claws of a wild animal, at times, not in its violence, but in its greediness. Zuko was learning which touches seemed to soothe and which only frustrated Zhao further. He was quickly coming to view his body as the sole tool he had to keep his husband’s anger from burning on forever. Zhao just as often validated that view.

“I’m lucky you’re on my side. You are the _only_ thing right in my life,” Zhao would say afterwards, sometimes into the scar on his neck, sometimes into his navel, sometimes directly above his heart. And Zuko took pride in that.

* * *

Iroh didn’t wait long to reach out to Zuko, astute enough to drop by his room at a time of day that Zhao was generally preoccupied elsewhere. Zuko was shocked by the wave of relief that crashed over him when he saw his uncle standing outside his door: all at once, it seemed as though everything was going to be alright. He hadn’t even realized how scared he was by the prospect Iroh might be mad at him until he was softly asking if he could come in to talk.

He waved away Zuko’s offer to sit on the bed. “No, I’m fine, I won’t be here terribly long. I just wanted to speak with you. I thought it might come across badly if I didn’t explain myself.”

“It’s fine,” Zuko said. He wanted to say more, but his chest was thrumming with too many emotions. He was angry. He was relieved. He wanted to throw his arms around his uncle and cry from the bottom of his heart.

Iroh stood before him with remorse in his eyes. “Zuko, I’m sorry if you feel I’ve been treating you like a child. You’ve been exactly that to me for so long that I haven’t… I haven’t quite adjusted to the fact that you don’t need me hovering as much anymore. It’s clear that in doing so, I’ve caused great strain in your marriage, and so I think it’s best if I take a step back to give you two some space.”

Zuko blinked. “What do you mean? Like you’ll move back into the Great Hall, or…?”

Iroh fidgeted where he stood. “Your sister has been tasked with hunting down the Avatar. And she has asked me to come with her.”

Of everything he expected his uncle to say, he hadn’t expected _that_. Iroh carried on, his demeanor nervous, words blurring as the blood rushed to Zuko’s ears.

“We often forget, with how capable she is, but your sister is still a teenager. She’s too proud to admit her vulnerabilities, at times, so the fact that she felt safe enough to outright ask me for help is something of a miracle...”

For a moment, Zuko’s lips moved without words. “...But. The Avatar is the reason for Zhao’s siege.”

Iroh nodded. “I know. Your father has insisted on widening the search. I understand that the best plan of attack is a multi-pronged one, but the way Azula and Zhao have been pitted against each other does give me pause. That’s why I wanted to talk to you first, Zuko. I want you to know that I’m not doing this because I have any hard feelings. Your sister’s been put in a difficult position, and I’d like to support her.”

“Like how you sullied Mai’s reputation to save hers,” Zuko uttered.

Iroh sighed, but this time, he didn’t deny it. “I take family very seriously, Zuko. I don’t want to cause undue harm, but I would betray anyone on this earth to keep you and your sister safe.”

It didn’t feel that way. It felt as though Iroh was willing to risk very much for _Azula_ , whereas Zuko’s happiness wasn’t his problem now that the boy was married. Zuko had no idea what version of events to trust anymore. Whether Mai had been in heat that day, whether she had struck first, whether Azula had removed herself from the situation or had to be pulled away by Zhao. Yet even with all these uncertainties darting around his mind, there was only one Zuko could bring himself to ask about: 

“Why are you working so hard to protect that little monster?” he whispered.

Iroh’s brows knitted together. “Your sister isn’t a monster, Zuko. There are details at play that you don’t know about.”

“Then _tell_ me.”

“I can’t.” His uncle’s expression was anguished. “It’s a private matter. Maybe if you asked her about it, she would-”

“No,” Zuko said immediately. “I’m not talking to her. By now, everyone has twisted the details one way or another, and I can’t go to _her_ if I’m looking for the truth.” He crossed his arms over his chest, furious, and changed the subject before Iroh could disagree. “How soon are you leaving?” 

“Tomorrow morning.”

So this was goodbye, at least for the foreseeable future. 

“Zuko.” A warm hand closed over his shoulder. “I don’t want us to part on bad terms. I am genuinely sorry if I caused any strife between you and your husband.” Iroh’s eyes were shiny as they searched his nephew’s face. “Is there anything you’d like to say to me?”

Zuko should apologize for earlier, or at least wish his uncle luck on his journey. But jealousy reached his tongue before the remorse.

“Yes,” said Zuko. “I’m glad that at least one of us is going to get to see the Avatar before he’s gone.”

* * *

Within this sprawling palace, Zuko is confined to the same three settings, so that even when stepping out into the garden for some fresh air, he feels his lungs about to collapse in on themselves. Uncle wanted to give him space, and yet without him, the claustrophobic feeling in the Lesser Hall has worsened. 

Zuko is sitting by the turtle-duck pond, half listening to the gentle sounds of lapping water, half drowning in the cacophony of his own thoughts when Zhao approaches. Zuko immediately resolves to compose himself, but glancing at his reflection in the pond, he catches sight of his ramrod-straight seiza and the unbroken lines of his face. There is an inherent disconnect between what his mind feels and his body shows. He looks perfectly calm.

Zhao, predictably, sprawls out beside him, arm curling around his lower back like it lives there. It sort of does, now; Zuko always has the impression, in public and in private, that Zhao is escorting him somewhere. After acknowledging his husband with a nod, his gaze falls to his lap so that he won’t have to look at either of their faces in the still surface of the pond.

Zhao has already exhausted his fury over Azula’s assignment. It actually feels strange for them to relax here side by side when, only hours earlier, Zhao upturned a dining table and sent a whole host of servants into a panic. Zuko had watched Zhao’s rage unfold as frozen as a rabbit-deer with a hunter’s arrow pointed at its forehead. Zhao was about ready to burn the room to ash when Zuko finally snapped out of it and grabbed him by the arm, pulling, _wrenching_ with some invisible force until the fire in Zhao’s hands died and he slumped, panting and rigid, to his knees. 

(It’s not that it hadn’t occurred to Zuko all that violence could just as swiftly be turned on him; it’s that he caught the eye of a terrified serving girl and thought, _Better me than her_ , before blindly reaching for control of the situation. Later he’d wonder why he’d been able to leap to that girl’s defense and not his own uncle’s.)

Now Zhao talks about Iroh’s departure like it comes with no caveats, coping with his outrage by ignoring it. “This will be good for us,” he asserts. “We’ve been chaperoned up until this point. Now you’ll get an actual taste of adulthood.”

Zuko nods without taking in what Zhao’s saying. “I wish he was leaving under different circumstances. I feel like the more time he spends with Azula, the more she’s going to rub off on him.” He can already see the effects.

Zhao sighs, then speaks aloud Zuko’s deepest insecurity: “I’m sorry he chose her over you.” 

Denial is on the tip of Zuko’s tongue, but he can’t push it out. He feels Zhao staring at the side of his face, waiting for a reaction. He says, “You know it isn’t personal, right? It’s a whole alpha thing. He wants to mentor the next Fire Lord.”

Zuko shakes his head. “No, Uncle doesn’t care about power. Azula is just everyone’s favorite.”

“Why do you think that is?”

Without hesitation: “She’s better than me. I told you before, she’s a prodigy in everything she does.”

“That doesn’t make her better than you,” Zhao scoffs. “I’m telling you, when people like Iroh or your father pick her over you, it’s because she’s next in line for the throne - they’re making the safest investment by sucking up to all that future power. It’s made them completely blind to what you have to offer.”

And what, exactly, does Zuko have to offer? Beauty? The ability to produce an heir? Those things don’t last forever. He’ll be forced to outlive his usefulness by decades. The prospect seems agonizing.

“Hey,” Zhao says. “Look at me.”

With some effort, Zuko obeys. 

“ _I’m_ always going to choose you,” Zhao says. “I promise you that.”

Zuko pulls him into a kiss to stifle the sob gathering at the back of his throat. He doesn’t know if he even believes Zhao, because the fact of the matter is, everyone leaves. His mother and Ty Lee and Mai and Iroh, everyone leaves once they’ve decided that Zuko isn’t enough to hold them there. Even his own father has left him in a sense, pushing him off on Zhao, whose stay has been temporary since the moment they were married. Ty Lee was right - Zuko is an anchor in that he can hold steady through almost any storm. But he’s too heavy to carry, and when the bonds are broken, he’s left standing in place while everyone else forges ahead. 

Zhao may anger him, he may frighten him, but Zuko _wants_ him. He wants him to stay in Caldera and not disappear to the North Pole or wherever his career will take him next. Zuko wants him so badly that when he kisses Zhao, he pores into it every ounce of feeling he can to make him understand, to make him stay.

So when the kiss starts to deepen, he lets it. He opens his mouth and meets Zhao’s tongue with his, moaning as if he’s already splayed on the ground with the other man inside him. 

Hands wrap around Zuko’s waist and begin to loosen the ties at the back of his robes. He pulls himself away to protest, shivering into his aborted response as his lower lip is caught between Zhao’s teeth. 

“What if someone sees us?” he pants. He doesn’t have a problem with sex - he _needs_ that physical comfort more than anything right now - he just doesn’t want to do it here. Although the prospect of returning to that stifling bedroom that they never leave seems bleak as well.

“There’s no one to see us,” Zhao says, kissing his neck. “Your uncle and sister are gone.”

“I know, but-” Zuko gives another bone-deep shiver as teeth graze his pulse, “-there are _guards_ , servants-”

“They know the drill. They’ll be out of here the second they figure out what’s going on.”

This is how Zuko finds himself naked on all fours in the middle of the palace garden. He can imagine how obvious this looks with Zhao perched behind him; he hears a rustle of clothes, but has no idea if Zhao is completely naked, or if he’s just shoved the pants of his uniform around his knees. He refuses to glance into the surface of the pond for a hint, afraid he’ll see his own reflection with all of its desperation looking back. 

Zhao’s hands drag over his back, tracing the dappled patterns of sunlight on his skin. He brings his thumbs to rest over the dimples of his hips, presses. “I could drink in this sight of you for the rest of my life,” he says, the fondness in his voice forcing Zuko to bite back a moan before he slips even a single finger inside him.

Zuko kneels on the splayed fabric of his robes, but Zhao strokes a place inside him that unfurls his body outwards, makes him have to clutch at the grass to hold himself still. The sounds of his pleasure are muffled through his clenched lips. Zhao beckons to him, his voice a sonorous thrum that curls Zuko’s toes, “Let it out. No one else is here.” Then, swiping a hard circle right against his prostate, “ _Yet_.”

The possibility that it could stop being the two of them at any moment wrenches an elongated moan from the base of Zuko’s throat. There’s not any danger of palace visitors finding them here, but it doesn’t matter. That the people who protect him and wash his clothes and cook his meals could find him laid so low - elbows to the ground, hips in the air, mounted in plain sight - sends twin shivers of fear and pleasure up his spine.

Zhao spreads Zuko’s hole open with his thumbs, watches him clench greedily in anticipation before teasing the head of his cock against his entrance, spreading precum in its wake. “Please,” Zuko begs, “I _want_ you, please,” and with a muttered curse, Zhao pushes past the tight ring of muscle.

The silk of Zuko’s robes isn’t soft enough to cushion his knees, but it’s also too slippery to anchor them. His legs slide apart, and he makes a choking sound as Zhao bottoms out. Even Zhao pauses to take a breath and let them both adjust, heaving air into his lungs before pulling his hips back and slamming into Zuko again. 

When Zuko finds his footing, they pick up a momentum. Zhao is reaching places inside him he didn’t know could be reached, the sheer force of his thrusts drowning out the veritable storm in Zuko’s head. “I knew you would enjoy this,” Zhao breathes. “Making all that noise - you _want_ them to find us, you slut. You want them to see who owns you.”

Zuko bites his lip to hold back the whimper this filth threatens to drag out of him. But the garden is so quiet that this just draws his attention to the obscene slapping of skin to skin as Zhao fucks him, punctuated by the occasional low grunt. The garden isn’t empty by luck; Zuko is _sure_ that people can hear them and are avoiding it on purpose. The realization makes him all the more desperate to suppress his voice and maintain what little dignity he has left.

Then suddenly there’s a hand tangling in his hair. His head is wrenched back with a domineering strength that forces a shout between his teeth. Zuko’s scalp prickles with a sensual pain, and he arches his back to meet Zhao’s demands, hips working twice as fast to wring every pleasurable jolt out of this position. Zhao yanks his hair again, and he can’t help but open his eyes, catching an unrecognizable glimpse of a person red-faced and panting before he squeezes them shut again.

Zhao comes inside him with a shudder, holding tightly onto his hair even as the thrusts stop. Zuko’s cock is untouched; he’s needed both arms to keep himself upright. He expects Zhao to reach under their bodies and stroke him to completion, only to shriek in surprise when his husband flips him onto his back and leans down to take the full length of him into his mouth. 

It isn’t just the tongue laving up the side of his shaft, nor the facial hair scraping his thighs into a pleasurably raw tingle. It’s the fact Zhao _fingers_ him, the cum stuffed in his hole acting as the lube to his thrusts. Zuko’s orgasm hits him like a punch, and there are tears in his eyes that blur the sparse clouds overhead until there’s nothing but blue. The sun feels incredible on his naked skin, almost holy. For once, the liquid fire in his veins doesn’t beg to be let loose, satisfied with a different release.

At the end of it, Zuko collapses, fistfuls of grass falling from his slackening fingers. Zhao laughs at the green stains on their clothes - combined with the streaks of cum painting the inner lining, this particular set of robes is probably ruined for good. Once dressed, they pat the grass from their clothes and then run for the shade of the veranda, the only real way to hide what they’ve done being to get inside and get changed as soon as possible. 

The way they chase one another back inside is almost playful. Again, Zuko finds himself grasping onto the idle hope that he can come to love this person. Knowing it can vanish in an instant, he prepares to hold on for dear life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the way i could hear the beat for eminem's "8 mile" playing in my head when i wrote azula's takedown of zhao djhfbjkdghkfjdhg
> 
> also sorry because i know a lot of you read the summary and were hoping for a southern water tribe revelation... it's close!!!!! it is SO freaking close


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On separate sides of the world, Zuko and Azula succumb to similar fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter, 23, is definitely the last chapter that'll be posted on the weekly schedule. 24 is "written," but i gotta get some very big plot points in order, so i'll be holding it back to give myself a chance to finish a few more chapters. i write my best material when i give myself room to go back and add foreshadowing/restructure plot points, so i promise the wait will be worth it!

Zuko feels like the rules have been changed just as he was starting to learn them. He had years to figure out what sorts of things set off his father’s temper, but all of that knowledge is useless now that they don’t ever talk. Instead, he has to learn how to contend with Zhao.

In some ways, Zhao’s tempers are easier to manage than his father’s because they come with a warning. If you count Zhao’s many oily smirks, he can usually be said to be in a good mood, so it’s obvious when he’s upset. Zuko’s father, on the other hand, never stopped glowering, so it was harder to tell when he was about to fly off the handle. Sometimes he even seemed to decide as such right in the moment, based on what was most likely to disarm the people around him. 

Zhao is a somewhat simpler man. His anger is mostly honor-bound, which isn’t unusual for a Fire Nation alpha. Various threats against Zhao’s honor include, but are not limited to: under-estimating his military prowess, doubting his decisions, and anything that could be perceived as either a slight against  _ or _ an overly-familiar pass at Zuko. This last category has earned him something of a guard dog reputation amongst palace employees and court attendees alike. Zuko appreciates the enthusiasm, but has found it difficult to make new friends in the wake of Mai and Ty Lee’s departure because people are afraid to talk to him without incurring his husband’s wrath. (Zhao doesn’t seem to realize he’s created such a problem. When Zuko tries to bring up the fact he doesn’t have any friends, Zhao laughs and says it’s fine. “You just have discerning tastes, like me.”)

Today, Zhao’s fury burns in fearful proximity to his husband. “Well?” he asks, tone testy. “Does it seem legitimate?”

At Zhao’s request, Zuko has been researching for days, cross-checking accounts of an Avatar sighting. From what he can gather, it makes sense that the party in question would have reached that far north by now, and circumstances surrounding the flood match with the weather typical for the Hu Xin provinces this time of year. The only detail that doesn’t make sense is the insistence that it was a party of four - historically it’s been two Water Tribe warriors and the Avatar. But it’s not impossible for them to have picked up another person in that time; a flying bison could easily fit one more person.

Zhao looks like he’s holding his breath. All that tension in his face. It will be worse to leave him hanging on forever, so Zuko nods in confirmation. “I think it could be him.”

“Are you  _ sure? _ ”

“Not one hundred percent, but it’s highly possible,” Zuko answers, flinching when Zhao swears. At least he knows not to direct any of that fury at Zuko’s precious research; he storms across the room before punching a wall. 

Four days ago, there was a monsoon in the village of Decharo, located in the northwestern Hu Xin provinces of the Earth Kingdom. The village sits in the mouth of a basin, with a dam on the north side and a ring of mountains encircling the rest. Were the dam to burst, it would be impossible to escape the flood. The entire village would be wiped out.

Except that’s just it - the rains were so heavy that the dam, weighed by age and poor upkeep,  _ did _ burst. But not a single life was lost. Apparently a pair of waterbenders held the flood at bay so the villagers could make their escape to higher ground. Even a squadron of benders should have struggled to hold a flooding river at bay long enough to evacuate a whole village, but just the two?

Zhao whips around and shouts, “Do you know what this  _ means? _ ”

Zuko imagines the young airbender contending with a literal force of nature and triumphing. It’s hard not to be awed, especially when he’s managed to save so many innocent lives in the process. “He’s gotten really powerful.”

“He’s gotten powerful at  _ waterbending, _ ” Zhao emphasizes. His hands are in the air as if to ask Agni what in the fuck he’s thinking, cursing them like this. “He might not even need to go to the Northern Tribe! Who is  _ teaching _ him to bend?”

There have always been reports of a waterbender travelling with the Avatar, but Zuko had been under the impression that this person was as young and inexperienced as the Avatar himself. Evidently not. In any case, the revelation has Zhao in crisis, convinced that without the added justification of the Avatar’s capture, his northern campaign will be cancelled any day now. 

Zuko schools his expression to look disappointed. He doesn’t want the northern campaign to fail, per se, but if it keeps the Avatar alive, and it keeps Zhao here, in Caldera…

He waits until Zhao’s heaving breaths have slowed to stand from his desk and approach. When the distance between them tightens to a sliver, he runs a hand along Zhao’s shoulders. Even through his shirt, his skin nearly burns. “I don’t think this development has to be the end of the world.”

Zhao shoots him a glare. “What about this seems salvageable to you?”

“Surely with the work that’s been completed so far, they won’t cancel the invasion altogether,” Zuko says - although, in his heart of hearts, he hopes. 

“I don’t know,” Zhao mutters, rubbing his hands over his face. “Pretty much my entire argument centered around the Avatar. Without him, the justification for the invasion falls apart.”

“We’d still have to unify the north eventually,” Zuko soothes, pulling on that invisible thread. He imagines he can feel the heat under his hand start to dim. “Maybe it just won’t happen so soon - you can take more time to plan it.”

Zhao scowls at his hands, but doesn’t say anything. Zuko presses on. “My father and the rest of the war council respect you, now. Even if the northern invasion falls apart, I’m sure there are other projects they’d entrust you with-”

In one violent move, Zhao rounds on Zuko, grabbing him by the upper arms and pressing him against the nearest wall. His grip isn’t tight enough to hurt, and it is a  _ press _ , not a slam, but the move startles Zuko nonetheless, because he’s suddenly staring up at all six-foot-something of his much broader and much stronger husband. 

Zhao brings his face menacingly close, enough to see every muscle in his yellow irises. Zuko has the distinct fear that they can see all the way into his treacherous heart.

“What are you on about?” Zhao asks, voice scraping like gravel in Zuko’s ears. “Are you telling me to give up on the invasion?”

The younger man tries to jerk free, but Zhao’s grip doesn’t budge. “Zhao, let go-”

“I thought I could depend on you,” Zhao says, shaking him. “I can’t have you turning against me!”

“I’m not against you, I’m only saying that if the worst happens-”  _ Then _ the grip on his upper arms starts to hurt.

“And how is it helping anything if you doubt me?” Zhao demands. “More than anything, I need someone to support me. If you undercut me like this, it makes me feel weak. It makes me feel like I have  _ nothing _ . Do you understand what you’re doing to me right now?”

The grip on Zuko’s upper arms is hard enough to bruise, and restrained like this, unable to reach out to him with a soothing touch, Zuko leans in and kisses Zhao on the jaw. He can feel the other man’s surprise in how he tenses, grip tightening for an instant, so he goes slowly, gently, lips trailing a line along his neck until he feels that bruising grip relax, and he has enough mobility to loop his arms around Zhao’s shoulders, to bury a hand in his hair.

Even though Zhao is motionless in his arms, even though the hands that have fallen to his waist touch him with more of a gentle urgency than a punishing force, Zuko feels a thrum ripple through his skin, the trembling anticipation of a violence now averted. He tries to channel that energy into relief as he bites and sucks at the skin of Zhao’s neck. 

When Zhao uses a light touch on Zuko’s chin to pull him into a languid kiss, those nerves become a triumphant flutter in his chest. Zuko successfully deescalated the situation. He can never say the right thing, but he can use his body to smother Zhao’s anger before it becomes too hot to contain. It’s strange, but it almost feels like he is physically manipulating Zhao’s inner fire in these moments, bending it under careful ministrations to a low simmer.

Zuko licks his way into Zhao’s mouth, whispering in between kisses, “I’m sorry if it seems like I’ve ever doubted you. Let me take care of you.”

Walking backwards, Zuko guides them both towards the bed, stopping when the backs of his knees hit the mattress. Then he sits down on the edge of it, holding Zhao steady in front of him with both hands on his hips. He twists his hands in the waistband of Zhao’s trousers, bites his lip and looks up at the older man through his lashes.

Zhao’s lips lift at one corner in a lopsided smirk, his gaze heady. “You want a taste?”

Zuko arches up, bringing his face closer to the growing bulge in the front of his trousers. “I haven’t had you in my mouth in a while. Can I please?”

A chuckle. “How can I say no when you ask so nicely?” A wide hand comes to rest on Zuko’s face, taking him by the chin, thumb pressing over the bottom lip. Zuko’s tongue flicks out to tease it, briefly, as his hands work Zhao’s belt.

Once Zhao’s cock is free, Zuko leans forward to lick a wet stripe up the side. He looses a soft sound from his open throat, as if the weight on his tongue is a relief, then runs his lips over the shaft in a trail of lazy kisses.

Zuko takes Zhao’s cock in both hands. One thumb teases over the swollen tip, playing with the sensitive ridge where shaft meets head. His other hand reaches down to cup his testicles, massaging the weight in his palm. He plants a series of open-mouthed licks along the sides of Zhao’s cock, doing his best to coat it with saliva. 

When Zhao eventually bucks against his hand, Zuko takes the hint, and sucks the head into his mouth. As he takes it deeper, his tongue laves the underside, feeling every vein. He glances up every once in a while and catches Zhao staring down at him, transfixed by the way his lips are stretched over his length.

Zuko is generous with the sounds he makes as he works, moaning as if the act of sucking another man’s cock is enough to bring him to orgasm. He does it because he knows it tickles Zhao’s ego. A part of him also knows that the less he resists the submissive fantasy Zhao holds of him in his head, the better it feels for him, too; so he plays along, making helpless noises of pleasure when Zhao gets a fist in his hair and bucks a little too far into his throat. As Zhao fucks his mouth, Zuko reaches down to touch himself through his clothes, shivering as the grind of silk over the sensitive length of his shaft makes him crave skin-to-skin contact.

Eventually, Zhao uses his leverage in Zuko’s hair to pull himself free. There’s a wet  _ pop _ , a trail of spit connecting Zuko’s lips to the angry red tip of Zhao’s cock. Zuko wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and shimmies back on the mattress, working the ties of his robe. He’s thankful for the particular cut he chose today, as he’s easily able to throw it open without even getting up. His erection tents the front of his loincloth, punctuated by a small, dark spot of precum. After a teasing moment, long enough to let the other man take in the sight, he slips the loincloth off his thighs, finally naked.

Meanwhile, Zhao undresses himself quickly, leaning down to climb over Zuko’s body when he’s finished. The journey is slowed by the fact he can’t keep his mouth off of the younger man: he kisses one slender ankle, bites the soft inside of a thigh, flattens his tongue over the bud of one nipple. With teeth sinking fiercely into his neck, Zuko is overwhelmed by the sensation of being devoured whole.

Zhao hooks a hand under each knee, bending Zuko’s legs back as far as they’ll go, and says, “Hold these.” Zuko obeys, feeling exposed as Zhao ducks down between his legs. There, he spreads the other man open, then licks along his rim. Zuko jerks in his grasp, hands tightening around his legs as he tries to watch Zhao eat him out. He can feel lips working against his hole, licking and sucking the sensitive skin of his opening. All he can do is lay there and tremble and take it; his dick throbs untouched, unable to  _ be _ touched so long as he continues to hold his legs open for Zhao. Neck straining from watching, Zuko lets his head loll back onto the bed with his eyes closed, letting himself be consumed by the sensation of the wet muscle teasing him open. His ass feels so sensitive; even the barest touch is igniting synapses across his skin, and it is all the more magnified by the way Zhao’s facial hair scrapes the inside of his thighs raw.

By the time Zhao has him slicked and loose, Zuko’s dick is dripping precum onto his belly. His stomach seizes with every drop that falls onto it, and he starts to beg, “Please, commander, I want your cock inside me.” Zhao can’t suppress the short moan that drags out of him, and he presses one last lick to Zuko’s entrance before sitting up so he can line himself up at it.

“Can I let go of my legs, now?” Zuko asks, hastily tacking on a breathy “sir” at the end. Zhao shakes his head. Zuko responds with a frustrated moan. “Can you  _ touch _ me, then?”

“Not when you ask like that,” Zhao says with a smirk. “Just for that, you’re going to come on my cock, alone.”

This “punishment” sends a litany of sparks through Zuko; he gives a, “Yes, commander,” biting his lip as Zhao teases the head of his cock against his already over-stimulated entrance, then gasps as he thrusts inside.

Zhao pauses for a moment to groan at the sensation of the tight heat, letting them both adjust before pulling back and slamming back inside. He finds a rhythm, fast, forceful, and Zuko narrates with the sort of dirty talk that will stroke his libido and his ego in kind. “You’re so  _ big _ ,” he pants. “I feel like you’re splitting me open.” 

Zhao seems to appreciate this; he’s unable to hold back on the sounds he’s making, barely suppressing grunts and groans as he sheaths himself inside the slimmer man. He presses his face into Zuko’s mating mark to further muffle the sounds, and Zuko stretches his neck out for him to bite as he pleases. His skin is singing with pleasure, because he’s good at so few things, but he’s good at this. He’s good at calming Zhao down, at serving him, at being an omega. He belongs here, with his alpha’s swollen cock plunging inside of him, and whispers these dirty, possessive nothings into Zhao’s ear. At least he’s useful this way, and he doesn’t know how to get love except by being useful, because no one will give it to him without a pound of flesh in return.

He’s so alight with arousal that he feels like he’s on the verge of a heat, that same wild need to be mated rearing up inside him. Teeth sink into his shoulder and his eyes flutter shut, throat opening in a moan. “Fill me with your cum,” he begs, and a strangled noise makes its way out of Zhao’s throat, hips stuttering as he does just that.

There’s a tense pause where Zuko wonders if he’ll be able to come now that Zhao’s beat him to it; he said he was only allowed to do so on his cock, but even with the way Zhao’s able to stay hard a few minutes after orgasm, he’s probably too sensitive to keep thrusting. The older man takes a moment to pant into his neck, gathering his bearings before he sits back on his haunches. Zuko moans when his cock slides free, feeling himself gaping from the loss. A trickle of cum slides down his ass.

“You can let go, but don’t touch yourself,” Zhao directs, holding both of Zuko’s legs back with a single hand. Zuko’s hands drop rigidly to the bed, where they clutch at the sheets for support. He feels three fingers enter him at once, and he trembles as they jab up against his prostate. It’s a filthy sensation; his ass is lubed by his own cum, rim straining around Zhao’s digits. He realizes Zhao is going to finger him to orgasm, and he says, “Thank you, sir,” almost breathlessly. Zhao manages to get a fourth finger stuffed into his hole before Zuko’s orgasm crashes over him, cum splattering over his chest, body jerking as if shocked.

When it’s all over, they lay in a heap of limbs, Zhao lips idly tracing the new bites along Zuko’s neck. They’re not so sore as the mating scar was when it was first left, but they’re tender, and so Zuko shivers under the attention, his skin prickling with that post-orgasm sensitivity. 

Zuko runs a hand along Zhao’s shoulder blades, partly to savor the muscle there, partly to determine if he’s relaxed. Maybe the problem, earlier, was that he tried to talk to Zhao when he was angry. If he broaches the subject now, will he get better results? Still, honesty clings to his tongue, unable to make that last tumbling leap into the air between them for fear of how heavy it’ll fall. It isn’t until Zhao pulls away from his neck to study his face and asks, “What are you thinking?” that Zuko finally talks.

“You’ve said before that the war council has allowed you to weigh in on other decisions. They must really respect you to do that.” He pauses, perhaps waiting for Zhao to cut in, but he doesn’t. Zuko goes on, willing his voice not to tremble. “Do you really think this incident will change all that?”

Zhao doesn’t look thrilled with this line of query, but he doesn’t look angry, either. He sighs, collapses onto his back. “...I don’t honestly know. It’s not in my control where the Avatar goes, but that hardly matters. Men have been expelled from the council for less.”

Zuko swallows. “If the northern invasion either… if it doesn’t go how you want it to, or if you return victorious, or… What happens when it’s over?”

“Well, that depends how it ends,” Zhao says. “I won’t have the same opportunities open to me if I fail.” He’s still barely looking at Zuko. These questions seem to be annoying him, the crinkle returning to the corner of his mouth. Zuko knows it’s risky, but he’s gotten this far, so he might as well come out with it and be honest about what he wants for once.

“Could you ever see yourself joining the war council more permanently?” Zuko asks.

With that, Zhao looks right into his eyes. “I won’t say I haven’t thought about it. But I always imagined that’d be  _ after  _ the northern invasion.” He seems to be studying Zuko, but it’s not clear if he likes what he finds there; his expression is complicated. “Why do you ask?”

Zuko can’t hold it in anymore. “Please don’t go to the Northern Water Tribe.” Then, while Zhao is stunned into silence, “I’m not asking you to cancel the invasion. You can send another admiral in your place. But I want you to stay here. With me.”

“Zuko-” 

“You could be on the war council full time, o-or the island management council, or whatever you want, but please, Zhao-”

Zhao turns onto his side to face him, propped up on an elbow as if to push himself out of bed. Zuko reaches for him blindly, just to have his hands on him, and while Zhao doesn’t push him away, he also doesn’t touch him back, stiff under Zuko’s touch.

“You know it’s always been my dream to invade the Northern Water Tribe,” Zhao says. “You’re asking me to throw away my  _ dreams-” _

“Haven’t they gotten any larger than that?” Zuko asks. “You want to ride into one battle when you could be ordering dozens more.”

“It’s not just one battle,” Zhao says. “There’s more than you know tied up in this.”

“But still,  _ one _ campaign, when you could direct the  _ whole war effort  _ from the council-”

“There’s more than even the war council knows that’s tied up in this,” Zhao insists. “There are parts of this plan I haven’t divulged to anyone yet, parts that could change the world-”

“Entrust them to someone else.” Zuko’s hands are still grasping at everything and nothing, touching Zhao’s face, his neck, his shoulders. When they light on his abdomen, he feels a ripple of - he expects anger, but could it be fear, for once? Have their roles reversed, and is Zhao now the one made vulnerable? Zuko can’t see how. He’s the one with his insecurities about being left alone all over again laid bare - from the crumpled visage he sees reflected in Zhao’s eyes, he knows that if Aloki saw him now, he’d give him thirty lashes for his failure to compose himself. “Zhao, I want you to stay in Caldera with me. You said yourself we have a chance at producing an heir. You can’t leave when I’m not even pregnant.”

“The northern invasion is still a few months off, and your next heat’s right around the corner,” Zhao mutters. His arms hang by his sides, inert, refusing to shove Zuko off or to hold him. “Why all the urgency? What does it matter if I leave a few months from now? It’s not like I’ll be gone forever. It’ll be a year or two at most.”

The way he says it, like it doesn’t even matter, like all that time lost is inconsequential, wrenches something loose in Zuko’s heart. He bites his lip to stifle himself until he’s sure he can speak coherently. The effect on his voice is still grueling. 

“I want you to stay here because I want to build a life with you, Zhao. I  _ love _ you.”

Except he doesn’t love Zhao. Zuko’s heart races with the dishonesty of the confession, but it doesn’t have to stay a lie forever. All he knows for sure is that it can never come true if Zhao dies up there in the arctic. And he is a hundred percent certain that if he lets Zhao go, he is never going to see him again.

Zhao looks at Zuko as if he’s driven a dagger through the center of his chest. His mouth opens, then closes. 

“You said you were always going to choose me,” Zuko whispers. “So please,  _ please _ choose me.”

Zhao shakes his head. “I - I can’t do this, right now.” He’s not angry, at least, but it’s almost worse, to see him totally disoriented in this way. He throws the covers off, and though he doesn’t push Zuko’s hands off him, his grip was never meant to force him there; it slides off his skin as easily as water. “I need to - I need to think about some things.”

He dresses quickly, Zuko holding in his protests for no reason other than the fact he doesn’t want to hear whatever wretched noise would come out of his mouth. He can’t even look at Zhao right now, eyes trained on the bed sheets, barely seeing the fabric in front of his eyes and he spirals out. 

No one ever chooses Zuko. Not Iroh, not Mai, not Ty Lee, not his father, and not even his own mother. Zhao claimed he would break the cycle. He  _ promised _ . But even Zuko’s own husband won’t choose him when there’s something better to be had. He is, inevitably, alone.

When he finally hears the door shut, Zuko allows himself to crumble, hands coming to his face to brace himself against the torrent of tears, but. His eyes remain dry, even as he feels his features twist, ugly, under his fingers. He takes in a sharp breath, expecting it to come out as a sob, but then it merely rushes out of his lungs like air from a stale corpse. 

* * *

The engine of the tank train clatters around them. To anyone who hasn’t spent the last two days in its bowels, sleep would be impossible. But somehow the cacophony of the engine has become nothing more than background noise. Azula is free to conserve her energy: should they get close to their target, someone will wake her. Her money is on one of the two engineers they’ve brought along to keep the tank train going; her uncle is slumped against the farthest wall, snoring loud enough to rival the engine itself. 

Try as she might, Azula can’t bring herself to relax. Maybe it’s the anticipation. They’ve been following the trail of fur left by the Avatar’s bison, and nearly overtook the group more than once when they stopped to try to rest. It’s a game of stamina, of outlasting the opponent’s exhaustion. Yet Azula is steadily wearing down her own.

Then again, maybe it’s her uncle’s snoring. With one pointed boot, she reaches out across the divide between their cots and rolls him onto his side. Her intent isn’t to kick him awake, but to turn him over so he stops snoring. Unfortunately, some of her irritation must have made its way into the sole of her foot; Iroh jerks awake and sits up, looking around with a bewildered expression.

“Is the Avatar-?!”

“We are still in pursuit,” Azula answers, curtly.

Iroh yawns and leans back against one vibrating wall with a wince. “Even with the cots, these arrangements are less than ideal for sleep. My poor old bones can hardly take it.”

_ You seemed to be doing fine _ . “It’s only a little while longer, and then we’ll have worn them down enough to capture them.”

His eyes fix on her, quizzical. It makes her realize how tight her pose is: she’s sitting with her arms hugging her knees, wrapped into a tight ball. She forces herself to relax, but the doting question comes, anyway.

“Are you feeling anxious, Azula?”

He must want her to reflect on her emotional state; otherwise he’d skip right to reassuring her rather than asking her about it. How annoying. “I’m just a little under-slept. I made the mistake of inviting a human buzzsaw on this journey with me.”

Iroh laughs. “My apologies, Azula. I’ll make sure to sleep on my side.” His expression settles into something more serious, then. “You should try to get some rest soon. You’ll need it to face the Avatar. You cannot take for granted you’ll be able to overpower him simply because he, too, is exhausted.”

She scowls. “I  _ know _ that.” He’s parroting her own plan back at her. “But I can’t fall asleep on command. I’m too restless. There’s a lot riding on this.”

If she’s opening up a little by telling him this, it's only so he’ll stop badgering her. Nevertheless, his gaze is tender. It reminds her so much of a look her mom used to give her that her skin crawls.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” Iroh says. “It will help pass the time until we catch up with the others.” As if they’re trying to rendezvous with a group of friends, not overtake an enemy.

Azula huffs. “We’ve already talked to death about how capturing the Avatar will only temporarily win my father’s love, so I’m frankly all burned out for the day in regards to psychotherapy.” She fixes Iroh with a mean, toothy smile. “Maybe  _ you’d _ like to take a turn?”

Iroh scratches his chin, pondering this suggestion like it’s an invitation to pai sho. “Hmm - you know, I rarely think about the fact that unburdening yourself is  _ itself _ a burden.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” says Azula. “You avoid it with more urgency than a burn victim avoids fire.”

Even when they’re at his expense, Iroh loves it when she uses a simile and proverbs, recognizing his influence for what it is and taking pride in it. The smile that spreads across his face is like butter on a hot roll.

“Ask me anything, and I’ll do my best to answer,” he says. There’s not an ounce of challenge or contrariness in his tone. She wants him to share, so he’ll share.

She taps her knee, pretending to think of a question. In truth, there’s one that’s been on the tip of her tongue for nearly two years.

“Why did you let my father take the throne from you?”

Iroh looks surprised at her choice, then laughs. “We did say we were unburdening ourselves. You went right for a big one.”

She doesn’t want him to deflect. She sinks her claws deeper. “Are you afraid of the information he holds over you? Of the stories he could spread if you ever challenged him?”

Iroh hums. “I won’t pretend that’s not a concern of mine. At the same time, my life has been lived. I don’t think people knowing who I am will un-conquer the West.”

Fair enough. “Are you not fighting back because you think it’s his rightful place? All things considered?”

To her delight, Iroh outright rolls his eyes. It’s the most treasonous thing he’s ever done in her presence. “Your father may believe he’s restored things to the natural order by putting me on the sideline, but replacing someone unqualified to rule does not make one qualified to rule.”

Iroh calling himself unqualified comes as a surprise. “You  _ really _ don’t want it at all? If you’re so critical of his reign, why don’t you do something about it? You don’t have to take it for yourself, but there must be plenty of groups out there dying to usurp him…”

There’s a mocking quality to her tone - she is neither divulging her intentions nor trying to lure Iroh into revealing his. Yet when he sighs, it’s with a terrible weight. “Azula. I am tired of fighting.”

“Not encouraging to hear, when we’re about to face the Avatar.”

He shakes his head. “Nevertheless. I am tired. My only goal is to protect what family I have left. If that means letting Ozai have his way, then I will do it.”

“Family,” Azula repeats. She uses one sharp nail to pluck at a hole in the fabric of her cot. “That’s a stupid reason to surrender.”

“I don’t think it is,” says Iroh. “When you take away everything else, what remains are those blood ties that bind us.”

Azula scoffs. “Family’s no more permanent than anything else in this world. It can be taken in an instant or it can even run away of its own accord.” She stares into the churning gears on the walls, entranced by their spiralling. 

She says, “A few days before Mother disappeared, she smacked me in the face in the palace gardens. I’d goaded her into doing it - well - I was really trying to get her to argue with me, maybe say something disrespectful about Father, because I saw he’d walked up and she hadn’t noticed him yet. I think it did surprise me, a bit, that she ended up hitting me, because she’d never done that before, but it was the best thing I could have asked for. Because Father was  _ furious _ . You should’ve seen the way he reprimanded her. Defending  _ me _ . After Mother disappeared and it became apparent she wouldn’t return, I thought for sure he was punishing her for what she did for me. I thought it was evidence that he loved me more than anyone else in the world, even his own wife.”

Her grip on her knees tightens. “Then he told us the truth. He hadn’t sent her away. She  _ chose _ to go. I kept thinking back to that stupid little smack in the face, because it was like I finally proved to her I was too vile to hang onto. She had been struggling with whether there was anything worth hanging onto in the palace, and even with all the riches in the world, even with her precious,  _ favorite _ Zuko around, she saw me as a monster, and she didn’t want me anymore.”

And why should Ursa have wanted to stay? No one ever chooses Azula. Mai and Ty Lee chose Zuko. Ursa chose Zuko, and then a man, over Azula. Ozai sometimes chooses Azula, but it seems to be tinged with reluctance now, like he will take something better if it is offered. Iroh is the only person who has chosen Azula, but a part of her is convinced it’s because Zuko is too old, now, no longer his responsibility.

Azula presses her eyes to her folded arms so she doesn’t have to see whatever stupid look of pity her uncle has on his face. “So no, Uncle - I  _ don’t _ think blood is all that important. It’s never seen  _ me _ as important.”

“Azula…” Ugh, his voice is positively  _ dripping _ with sorrow. It makes her want to throw up. 

“Whatever. Who cares.” She rubs her eyes so there’s another reason to explain the red away.

There is a small pressure, like a hand placed on the cot, next to her foot. “May I put a hand on your shoulder?”

“ _ No. _ ” For the record, she does  _ not _ sniffle after saying it. 

The pressure disappears. “I think you’ve been a very brave girl, Azula.”

“Don’t  _ patronize-” _

“I am not patronizing,” Iroh says, firmly. “For all that you give yourself credit for your many other strengths, you don’t give yourself credit for enduring the terrible heartbreak your parents have put you through. It breaks  _ my _ heart, that you’ve had to grow up so fast.”

“Your voice is gooey,” she says, and when she finally looks at him, his eyes are red-rimmed. They must both be more sleep-deprived than they realize, having heart-to-hearts in the middle of a pursuit. She reaches out to shove him by the shoulder, snap him out of it, but she goes gentle as soon as she makes contact. It becomes more of an awkward pat.

They calm themselves down, Azula in particular taking only moments to compose herself. She thinks she catches Iroh looking at her out of the corner of his eye, as if alarmed by the speed with which her tears disappeared. Or maybe she looks worse than she realizes.

“...Who  _ do _ you think is qualified for the throne?” she asks, if only to change the subject.

“Who indeed?” He smiles at her, eyes still shiny. “I don’t think there’s anyone out there who’s ever truly worthy to rule. I only know that there are those who to whom I feel moved, and those for whom there is no path forward, for better or worse.”

* * *

It isn’t easy for Zhao to find Zuko later, their bedroom empty when he returns. It’s not like the other night, when he was actively hiding: he’s simply holed himself away in a room towards the front of the hall, a reception room of sorts. Zhao hasn’t spent much time there, but the screen door’s been left open so he can see someone’s in there and walk easily inside.

The irori in the center of the room is lit; the torches on the walls are not. It creates a tense outline of yellow on the sole inhabitant, especially when Zhao comes to stand in the doorway, the bulk of him blocking the hall light. Zuko’s on his knees in front of the hearth, staring into the flames. Zhao wonders if he lit it himself.

He clears his throat, drags the younger man’s attention to him. “Can I come in?”

Zuko nods. By habit, Zhao shuts the door behind him, plunging the room into a starker contrast. He feels foolish standing in the dark, but he wants the privacy of the closed door. It helps that Zuko isn’t looking at him all that expectantly, eyes back on the hearth. The way the yellow light dances on his skin, it’s impossible to tell if he’s been crying.

After some hesitation, Zhao comes to kneel next to Zuko. The seizas make this feel like a business meeting of some sort. Maybe a marriage interview. He has to hold back a humorless laugh at that thought.

“Have you ever heard of Wan Shi Tong?” Zhao asks.

Zuko turns to him, a quizzical crinkle at the corners of his eyes, then shakes his head. Zhao clears his throat. “It’s - he’s a spirit that serves as guardian to a massive library in the Si Wong desert. It’s a legend among scholars, and many have tried and failed to find it. At one time, it was said this library held all the world’s knowledge in its chambers.” He pauses. “So it was said. I think there’s a limit to what even spirits can gather. If it did ever hold all the world’s knowledge, it certainly doesn’t anymore.”

He searches Zuko’s face, and sees only that the younger man is listening to him. Zhao carries on.

“I told you I was bored with my assignment in the Si Wong. It was a lot of standing around with nothing to do, maybe the occasional scuffle with locals. I felt like I was wasting my time. So when I heard about Wan Shi Tong’s fabled library, I separated from my regiment in order to look for it. It wasn't easy; I was out two days of food and water by the time I made it back to my encampment, and with the faceless similarity of the desert, I was sure I was permanently lost more than once. But my search was worth it.”

“Did you meet this Wan Shi Tong himself?” Were Zuko’s eyes glittering, or was that the effect of the fire light?

Zhao nods. “He was there waiting when I found my way inside.”

“What form did he take? Were you frightened?”

“A giant owl.” The memory of a looming figure with a pale white face flashes in his mind. “And no. Sort of. It was more…” Zhao twists his hand, as if to pluck the word from the air.

“Awe?” Zuko supplies. His voice is reverent. Zhao accepts the suggestion even though he still doesn’t quite agree with it, nodding. 

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” Zuko asks. “An encounter with a spirit in a mythical library… that sounds like the perfect story to impress someone on a first date.” His smile is small, but affectionate. There’s a tease to his voice.

“This is the first time I’ve told anyone about this,” Zhao says. It’s the truth. Zuko’s eyes soften, as if he understands the depth of this honor. It makes sense that he would. He’s - not devout, precisely. But his respect for the Avatar and the influence of his uncle, who often speaks in the language of balance, bely a level of spirituality.

Zuko tweaks the question, tone suddenly unsure. “Why are you telling me this now?”

Zhao straightens his posture. “Wan Shi Tong, like most scholars, was fastidious. His library was quartered into sections for each elemental domain. I wanted to learn all that I could about one of the Fire Nation’s enemies in the hopes of finding something that could shift the tides of war ever-further in our favor. I suppose I chose the section of the library devoted to the waterbenders because a part of me found the many disjointed city-states of the Earth Kingdom daunting, and I thought, because of their smaller numbers and our ease conquering the south, it’d be more useful to focus there.

“I read about the tribes for hours, searching for something that would give us an advantage. Towards the end of my stay, it occurred to me how easy it would be for someone else to do the same to us, and so on my way out, I burned away the portion of the library devoted to the Fire Nation.”

Zuko startles, hand to his heart. “How were you allowed out with your life?”

Zhao bristles. The question is phrased so that his survival seems a function of his spiritual worthiness, not his cunning acumen. “Most spirits are nothing more than beasts with a few extra powers. They aren’t all-knowing, and they aren’t undefeatable. I survived Wan Shi Tong as I did any other enemy I’ve faced.”

Zuko still doesn’t seem to approve. His eyes shine like jewels in the dark, and are just as hard. “...So what did you find on the Water Tribes? Did you use the information for your invasion strategies?”

“Some here and there,” Zhao admits. “But the most vital information I found, I’ve kept to myself all these years. It’s the sort of thing that can win the war.” His hands clench into fists where they rest on his knees. “I... I can’t stand the idea of telling someone, and them getting all the credit. It was  _ my _ discovery. I should get to use it.”

“If you tell me what it is, maybe I can help,” Zuko says. 

Again. That urge to gain Zuko’s approval. It’s not like the boy is some spiritual or moral authority. It ultimately doesn’t matter if a teenaged omega approves of Zhao’s methods, but he still  _ wants _ him to.

“In the heart of the northern tribe’s capital of Agna Qel'a is a spirit oasis, where the moon and the ocean take mortal forms as a pair of koi fish. The moon is as central to a waterbender’s power as the sun is to ours; by killing the moon spirit, we could completely cut off their source of power and rid the world of waterbending forever.”

It doesn’t hit right away. Zuko’s looking at him in disbelief, and for a moment, Zhao thinks the biggest hurdle is going to be convincing Zuko this is even possible. It’d been hard for him to believe at first, too. A spirit in mortal form. What an idiotic weakness to create, and why? For the sentimental closeness to humans? So Tui and La could circle one another for eternity? It was foolish.

Then the realization comes. Zuko’s eyes are wide as he whispers, “Zhao… You can’t pass that information on to anyone else.”

Hope sings in his chest. “So you see the importance of this? I can’t let some other admiral take credit. I have to use this myself.”

Zuko flinches. “No - you can’t tell anyone because it’s wrong. You can’t  _ do _ this.”

Zhao’s losing him. He’s finally said the words he’s been holding inside himself for nearly ten years, and Zuko is looking at him like he’s a monster. “But it would be a clean break,” Zhao says, embarrassed by the desperation in his own voice. “You  _ heard _ what the Avatar did in the Earth Kingdom. His power is becoming unwieldy. We need to handicap him in some way if we’re ever going to be able to subdue him, and getting rid of the sort of waterbending that can face down a flood and win would be the logical first step. Getting rid of the rest of the waterbenders will make it that much more worthwhile.”

The look on Zuko’s face is one of pure horror. He grabs his husband’s hands. “Zhao,  _ listen _ to yourself! I don’t even understand why you would want to rid the world of waterbenders - isn’t it enough that we colonize them? Isn’t it enough that we bring them  _ civilization? _ What you’re saying is unprecedented!”

Zhao scoffs. “ _ Unprecedented? _ Zuko, come on. What about the airbenders?” 

“What  _ about _ the airbenders? We-” Zuko stops, struggles to find the words. “They fought us.”

“And we completely wiped them out.”

“Yes, but - it was a natural result of the fighting.”

Agni. He really is a kid, isn’t he? “It was a coordinated effort to prevent a new Avatar. We didn’t know or care about the specifics - better to get rid of them all, and prevent the next several generations altogether.” 

Zuko’s still looking at him like he’s a monster. Zhao feels so sick it makes him furious. He says, “I get that you’re upset, Zuko. It was a distasteful necessity, but a necessity nonetheless. That’s why I want to do things differently this time around, more efficiently! Think about it - this is a way to destroy waterbending without actually killing all waterbenders. The only violence we’d need is whatever is required to quell insurrection, but  _ otherwise _ , no innocents have to die. It’d be the most efficient genocide ever conducted by the Fire Nation.”

Zuko shakes his head. “You want to rid the world of healers. You don’t think we could harness that for ourselves?”

“They’re not likely to share all that with us once we conquer them, Zuko.”

Zuko will not give in. “There have to be other repercussions of killing a moon spirit. If waterbending is affected, what about the tides?”

Zhao narrows his eyes. “I don’t  _ know _ , Zuko, but if we have an opportunity to change the world, we’ll have to accept the risks!” He shakes the younger man’s hands off. “I can’t believe you’re fighting me on this. Do you even care about the success of the northern invasion? Don’t you think it’d be easier with  _ an entire army of waterbenders _ immediately incapacitated?”

“If this is the first time you’ve told anyone, Zhao, then clearly the war council thinks your plan will work without drastic measures!”

“Then think of the glory of it! The admiral who took it on himself to destroy the moon spirit would become a  _ legend _ . They’ll tell stories for generations of the man who darkened the moon!”

They’ve been shouting at each other, but now Zuko’s voice goes low and wretched as he says, “No amount of infamy is worth what you’re trying to do.”

Zuko can’t seem to stomach the sight of him anymore. He has angled his body away, back towards the fire, because everything Zhao has said has  _ repulsed _ him. The fury and the embarrassment are enough to make Zhao want to rage. Anyone else would validate his idea. He’s  _ sure _ the war council would be furious at him for withholding this. But Zuko’s acting like he just slit a tigermonkey cub’s throat in front of him.

Maybe Zuko isn’t as ideal a mate as he originally thought. Zhao stands, his fists clenched at his sides. “I’m going to the North Pole, whether you want me to or not,” he snaps.

Zuko looks up, face stricken. “But if I’m not pregnant-”

“You will be,” Zhao affirms. “We’re going to do  _ everything _ in our power to make sure of that before I leave.” As he says it, he knows his cockiness is toeing the line - biology can’t be rushed, but they have months to figure it out. Zuko will have at least one, maybe even two more heats before the northern invasion commences.

“What if you die out there?” Zuko asks.

_ That _ makes Zhao even angrier. “Are you doubting me? Are you saying I’ll fail?”

It would be easier if Zuko were glaring back at him. Instead he looks at Zhao like he’s already mourning him. He says, “Even great warriors die in battle. Like it or not, you are mortal, Zhao, and I won’t be able to live with myself if I lose you.”

Zhao’s jaw goes rigid. “Then die. What will I care, if I’m already gone?” He doesn’t wait to see how these cruel words have landed, although he sees the flash of pain rend Zuko’s gaze as he turns away. For the second time that day, Zhao leaves Zuko all alone.

* * *

Later in the evening, a serving girl comes to Zuko with an envelope. Above the Fire Nation seal it says,  _ For Prince Zuko’s Eyes Only _ . He frowns at this cryptic message and asks, “Who gave this to you?”

“He wouldn’t give me his name,” she confesses, wringing her hands. “He was an older man with white hair and a goatee. He was a little forward…”

A vague description that could apply to many men. Zuko doesn’t wait for her to leave the room before he rips open the note.

_ Dear Prince Zuko, _

_ I have information that may interest you regarding your husband. If you would like to hear it, meet me at the Jade Mountain tea shop at noon tomorrow.  _

_ I’m sure it goes without saying, but I’d appreciate if you did  _ _ not _ _ bring him along. _

_ Your faithful servant, _

_ Admiral Shu _

It takes him a while to place the name. Wasn’t that Zhao’s old superior officer? Zuko very distantly remembers meeting him at their wedding, but it wasn’t a great first impression. If anything, the grubby little man put him off with a sweaty handshake and leering eyes.

With an angry sigh, Zuko sends the letter in his hands up in flames.

“Bad news, sir?” asks the serving girl.

“No, merely an annoyance. If this man approaches you again, pay him no mind,” Zuko says. He’s sick to death of Zhao’s secrets. His goal right now is to keep Zhao in Caldera with him. The more he delves into his husband’s past, the more distracted he gets from his goal of preserving their future.

The serving girl nods. “Do you need anything else of me?”

Zuko’s gaze sweeps over her. She’s an ordinary-looking person, the sort that falls into the background without a second thought. It’s probably what makes her a good servant; she doesn’t draw attention. This line of thought reminds him of something he’s been mulling over over since his last conversation with Zhao today. Before they “make up,” meaning before Zuko prostrates himself asking for forgiveness, he’d like something in his back pocket to protect his interests. 

“What do you know about suppressants?” Zuko asks.

The girl starts wringing her hands again. “Well - they’re illegal, now.” Perhaps she thinks he’s testing her, but that’s more an Azula move, to ask a servant to break a law and then immediately penalize them.

Zuko sighs. “Yes, but if you had to find some. Could you?”

What Zhao told him today has filled him with foreboding. It’s bad enough that he wants to tangle with the spirits, but the fact he's already gotten away with the burning of the Wan Shi Tong cannot go ignored. He is due for a comeuppance from the spiritual world, and if Zuko lets him go north intent on killing the moon spirit, he will die. 

(Zuko tries to ignore the voice telling him that the alternative, where Zhao goes north but survives, is even worse. It is not solely a world where the Avatar is lost once again. It is a world of black nights, where the sea lies as dead and as still as glass.)

After a pause, the serving girl nods. “Good,” Zuko says. “Procure some immediately. And please be discreet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPEAKING of killing moons, do you guys understand how close this fic came to being named after lyrics from the song “killing moon” by echo and the bunnymen? This fic was almost called “Fate / Up Against Your Will”, or something like that. im personally glad i eventually found a different title lmao, but someday i WILL make a "killing moon" reference in a zhao-centric fic. or i invite SOMEONE to, please. for all us other zhao fans with impeccable taste in 80s music


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Admiral Shu sits Zuko down for a chat about Zhao's time in the Southern Water Tribe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pre-condom birth control is fascinating.... the ancient egyptians were big into the diaphragm-style barrier methods (like slathering your cervix with honey & other mixtures... crocodile dung, ugh!!!!). idk, i just dont think the ATLA world has figured out latex, even if they have some steampunk tech going on

Zhao was already in bed with the torches extinguished when Zuko entered the room. Standing in pitch blackness, Zuko shed his clothing, letting each layer fall to a heap in the middle of the floor. Then he padded over to the bed and slipped under the covers.

Zuko listened. He couldn’t hear the tell-tale rhythmic breaths of sleep, but he did eventually hear a rustle of covers, and feel the bed dip as Zhao turned over. It seemed proof enough he was still awake; Zuko reached out with his entire body, feeling his chest come flush with Zhao’s still-clothed back. 

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Zuko whispered, breath ghosting over the nape of Zhao’s neck. He slid a hand up over one broadly muscled arm, unsure whether his goal was to eventually grab a hand or a hip or -

The arm under his hand moved, shaking him off. “I know what you’re doing.”

Zuko frowned into the dark. “You mean apologizing?”

He heard a scoff. “You think if you appeal to me with sex, it’ll fix everything. But it _won’t_. I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

Zhao wasn’t entirely wrong about Zuko’s motives, but his words lanced, anyway. Zuko laid a tentative hand on the other man’s shoulder, not meaning to persuade, so much as out of comforting habit. Maybe it was another apology. 

Zhao pulled away, edging towards the other side of the bed. Zuko let him go.

* * *

In the days that followed, Zhao’s anger was quieter than usual. Rather than imposing his rage on all who crossed his path, he spoke to his spouse in curt, toneless responses. Zuko supposed that was because he wasn’t merely angry, but hurt that his long held secret had been so reviled. He was probably waiting on a heartfelt apology, a desire that Zuko, for once, could not bring himself to indulge. Zuko didn’t want to say anything that could be misconstrued as a blessing of his husband’s imminent departure, so for the next several days, he did his best to avoid outright apologizing while still groveling at every opportunity. Now more than ever, he needed to stay on Zhao’s good side, because he was harboring a damning secret: he had started taking suppressants. He hoped that by preventing a pregnancy, he could buy some time while he tried to figure out a more permanent way to keep Zhao in Caldera with him.

It wasn’t a foolproof plan. Suppressants were not solely named for their effect on an omega’s heat, but for the fact that they blocked out _everything,_ from the ability to get pregnant, to the natural scent an omega produced. Zhao had yet to notice, thankfully, too annoyed still at Zuko to get close enough and notice the change. But Zuko knew he couldn’t expect Zhao to stay away from him forever, especially when his goal was to get Zuko pregnant as soon as possible. It was only a matter of time before they were intimate again, and then his secret would be revealed.

Evidently, Zuko was not the first omega to want to hide something like this from their spouse. He went to an herbalist who gave him a balm that imitated an omega scent (personalized, of course, to match his unique one). The herbalist also insisted he start wearing perfume on a regular basis to mask any imperfection in what she’d made. Later that night, when Zhao reached through the covers, he didn’t seem to notice, so it seemed that the crisis was averted.

Except several weeks later, Zuko was drawing rapidly close to his next scheduled heat. Zhao _knew_ this. It was going to be next to impossible to hide. Yet if Zuko gave up now and stopped taking the suppressants, that would defeat the entire purpose of trying not to get pregnant in the first place. 

At a loss, Zuko found himself back to see the herbalist who’d helped him the first time, sick with worry as he browsed aphrodisiacs. Would any of them even _work?_ Although he wouldn’t say it aloud to her, he’d heard that very few aphrodisiacs had the intended effect; at best they were inert money-making scams and at worst they were outright toxic. He mused that even if they had the intended effect, there could be no way they’d imitate that sheer slickness of a true heat, or - or that _scent_. If he’d thought it was difficult imitating his usual scent, the hormone-extrapolated scent of an omega in heat must be nearly impossible. 

“My prince.” The herbalist’s voice broke through Zuko’s worries with a measured calmness. “I appreciate your patronage of my business. But I would be remiss if I did not ask: are you absolutely sure you can go through with this feat?”

Zuko was careful not to bely his anxieties. “I have made up my mind.”

“Of course. I don’t mean to question royalty, my prince,” she said with a bow. Her deference ignited the guilt roiling in his stomach. “It’s just, to fake a heat… Even if my wares serve their purpose, are you prepared to put on a performance?” 

He bit the inside of his cheek. “What do you mean?”

Her tone was soft, careful to be discreet even though they were sequestered in a private room at the back of her shop. “Are you ready to _act_ as though you’re in heat? All that ‘I-live-to-be-mated’ nonsense, the desperation, as though you simply can’t _resist_ your husband’s knot.”

She was a sophisticated older omega, with slivers of gray hair in her tightly-packed bun. Talking to her about sex felt like talking to his own mother about sex, which only made him flustered. “I don’t know...”

She tapped one flawlessly painted finger on her chin. “I don’t mean to doubt you, my prince. I merely think it is an awfully daunting task. Perhaps you’d better stop taking your suppressants and use a salve instead.”

“A salve?” Zuko repeated. “How will skin cream help anything?” 

The herbalist gave him a pitying smile, which told him all he needed to know: that this was the sort of thing his mother should have taught him. “It doesn’t go on your skin,” she explained. “You place it deep inside yourself, flush against the cervix - that way it can act as a barrier and prevent pregnancy.”

He’d never heard of such a thing. Surely it couldn’t be that popular? He didn’t want to seem ignorant by asking, but... “There has to be some kind of catch.”

Her smile went tight. “Well. For anatomical reasons, male omegas are often nervous to use this method, but if your application is careful, it should still do the trick.” 

Zuko frowned. “That’s all? And it’ll prevent pregnancy every time?”

“Almost every time.” She paused. “Truthfully, you’d achieve better results with the pull-out method. But that isn’t exactly an option, if you’re trying to do this in secret.”

Zuko scowled. Even he knew that didn’t bode well for his chances of avoiding pregnancy. “If it’s that useless, then what is the point of this solution?”

“Because faking a heat is not an easy thing to do.” She looked right into his eyes. “It’s not as if it doesn’t work at all. It’s better than nothing, and it’s certainly better than getting _caught_.”

The herbalist had probably meant to persuade Zuko into a pricier option; but by making him doubt his ability to lie _and_ introducing a choice that was tempting, yet deeply flawed, she had only succeeded in overwhelming him. He left the shop without buying anything, promising to send someone back in his place if he changed his mind. Before he stepped onto the street, he pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, hiding the golden glint of his royal hairpiece in the hopes of going unnoticed. 

The silk of his cloak must have been too fine, or the tailoring too precise. Someone still managed to identify him.

“Prince Zuko?” a man’s voice called out to him. “Excuse me? Prince Zuko!”

Zuko picked up the pace, hoping to avoid whoever it was. He _knew_ he shouldn’t have come here himself. He didn’t dare turn around, but he imagined he could feel the surrounding eyes of the marketplace swiveling in search of the covert royalty, their gazes burning him as he went.

Zuko gave a cry of surprise when a man leapt into his path, arms waving, grin enormous. He was vaguely familiar and had the faintest whiff of an alpha, as old as he was. He must be nearly seventy; the handlebar mustache and goatee were stark white. Zuko noticed he didn’t have a topknot.

“My prince!” said the man. “It’s Admiral Shu. We met at your wedding. _Gorgeous_ affair.”

Zuko resisted the urge to cringe. “Sorry, I’m in a rush.”

He tried to proceed onward, but Admiral Shu stood stubbornly in his path. That grin seemed less friendly, now. “Please, don’t go running off so soon! This is kismet. Agni has put us in one another’s path for a reason.”

Zuko frowned. He hated invoking his royal status, but he might have to if this man wasn’t going to leave him alone. He steeled his voice with authority. “Admiral Shu, as your prince-”

“You know, I was terribly upset when you turned down my invitation to talk. I didn’t reach out to you for _my_ benefit.” The old man eyed him up and down. “I happen to have information on Zhao that could drastically change your view on him.”

Ugh - he must be referring to the note he’d sent to the palace the other day. Zuko was so sick of people trying to tell him Zhao’s secrets. Frustrated, he said, “I already know about the omega servant, so you can leave me alone.”

Admiral Shu blinked. “...What omega servant?”

Zuko frowned. Then, lowering his voice so as to not draw attention to such a precious secret, he said, “I also know about… the fish.”

At that, Admiral Shu burst into raucous laughter. He threw back his head, clutching his belly as he cried out, “What sort of nonsense has that boy gotten himself into? You said that so seriously, too! _The fish!_ Oh, I haven’t had a laugh that good in a while...” 

“It isn’t that funny,” Zuko groused, fighting a blush.

“Oh, but it is.” Admiral Shu wiped a tear from the wrinkled corner of his eye. “My dear, I assure you that the information I have on your man, no one else has. This is a secret of extraordinary proportions. It’ll blow your fish right out of the water!”

Zuko doubted that, but he was intrigued. Despite his earlier resolve to stop muddling in Zhao’s past, it was hard to resist the urge when this man was now standing right in front of him. Perhaps what he learned could help him persuade Zhao to stay in Caldera.

They moved their conversation to a nearby restaurant. Although this came with the risk of someone overhearing what delicate secrets they might trade, the thought of following this man back to his home, alone, filled Zuko with apprehension. For all of Admiral Shu’s outward friendliness, Zuko couldn’t ignore the clear conflict brewing between this man and his husband. To compensate, he purposefully chose a booth in the emptiest corner of the restaurant. The waitstaff were kind enough to bring out a partition, too, to block the view from the main floor; from the sheer extravagance of the price of many of their offerings, it seemed they were prepared to protect the privacy of any esteemed patrons who might walk into their doors.

“I suppose lunch is on you?” Admiral Shu asked, cheerily perusing the menu.

Zuko fixed him with a serious look. “What do you get out of talking to me today? What’s in it for you?”

The old man batted his eyes. “You don’t believe I’m simply being a good friend of the family, warning you of your bastard husband’s dealings?” When Zuko’s gaze didn’t waver, he dropped the act, eyes hardening. “Well. Consider this revenge for the little Mo Ce Sea scandal.”

Zuko instantly knew what he was referring to, having heard his husband rage about it for the better part of the last week. Several fleets Zhao wanted to redirect towards the northern campaign had been pulled into a skirmish in the Mo Ce Sea. What’s more, there were reports of boats fashioned after the style of the _Southern_ Water Tribe involved, suggesting the Earth Kingdom was starting to see the value in enlisting help from other nations. 

Rumor also had it that these Water Tribe warriors had ties with older rebel cells across the Earth Kingdom, including... Chameleon Bay. Where Zhao’s former fleet had supposedly eliminated an outpost years before. The association wasn’t career-ending, but it certainly didn’t instill confidence in Zhao’s ability to finish the job. 

Admiral Shu’s jolly smile fell away, anger glinting in his yellow eyes. “To save his own ass, your man has been telling anyone who will listen that my incompetent leadership is to blame. He _promised_ to help me rebuild my career, and instead he’s dragging my name through the mud.” His lips spread into a predator’s smile. “So! If he can’t keep his promise, I won’t keep mine. I’m going to tell you about one of the most shameful moments in your husband’s career. About his time in the Southern Water Tribe.”

At that, Zuko found himself sitting up straighter. It was always something about the water tribe with Zhao; ages ago, he remembered Wei implying his brother had a fixation with the South Pole in particular, a cruel smile twisting his lips as he spoke. It was one period of Zhao’s history they rarely talked about, and for a man who made a point of bragging about even his smallest military accomplishments, this shrouded it in total mystery.

Admiral Shu folded his hands in front of himself on the table. “Not many people realize this, but five years ago, we had a series of semi-permanent encampments at the South Pole. It wasn’t anything like the Earth Kingdom colonies - they weren’t real settlements. However, we were stationed there long enough that we carved out our own sense of normalcy from the tundra. 

“During this time, there was a fair amount of mixing between our troops and the people of the Southern Tribe. Not much, and not overly friendly. Most of it was your typical spoils-of-war - taken, not asked or traded for. Every once in a while, though, people would forget themselves. Funny how that happens. I suppose anything can become familiar and affectionate, even the face of old Granny’s killer. Or maybe we cope with all that’s frightening and new by searching for the humanity in it. He’s not like those other soldiers! Our love is proof of that! And so on, and so forth. The point is that we all fell into a sense of complacence. Perhaps if I’d been more alert, I would’ve had better security from the outset.

“One night, a crew of tribesmen snuck onto my ship and nearly killed me in my sleep. Luckily, a crash off the portside bow woke me up in time to see that knife glinting over my throat. I managed to turn it on my would-be killer - stabbed him right through the jaw! You should’ve heard the sound he made; funny kind of yelp, like a shirshu pup.” Here, he chuckled to himself, as if remembering a bawdy joke.

“At first, it seemed your regular sort of insurrection. Mad natives sneaking around in the night. When we rounded them up, though, we searched their persons and found these parts on ‘em, metal and such. We had no fucking idea what they were, but we knew they had to be ours; that kind of steel isn’t exactly easy to find in the arctic. So we wake up the engineers. Turns out the tribesmen didn’t just hack away at our ship’s engine - they were real strategic about the parts they removed. Had we not caught them, we may’ve never realized they were missing, and our ship would’ve been fucked. We’d have never been able to make it back to the Fire Nation.”

Zuko furrowed his brow. “What has any of this got to do with Zhao?”

“I’m getting to that,” Admiral Shu huffed. “Getting a good look at the tribesmen, we realized something else. We recognized the ringleader. An omega, if you can believe it. He had an unusual look for one of them - big, yellow eyes that suggested his daddy arrived in the first invasion of the south some twenty years before. We recognized him because it was well known that your husband, Zhao, was involved with him. I’d always thought it wasn’t terribly serious - who could really blame a bored soldier, for falling in with some slut? But with the realization, some of the other men were throwing around accusations that things had gotten romantic, and that they were planning things together. Who, after all, had given these tribesmen the information on the engine? So now there was a cause for accusations of mutiny.”

Zuko clutched the neck of his robe. “My husband isn’t an engineer.”

Admiral Shu snorted. “Very true. That was what your man said at the time, in fact. He claimed he had no way of passing on that kind of knowledge about the ship’s engine. He said he’d had no idea what this omega was plotting, that it was all a terrible coincidence. Perhaps he was even being _used_ , to gain familiarity around the ship. He’d never brought the omega back, but building that familiarity might be enough to lower the rest of the crew’s guard when they saw him. A bit of an ostrich-horse shit excuse, looking back. We all dropped our suspicions and let him go, though. He proved to us he was loyal to the crown above all else.”

A pause. Admiral Shu wasn’t going to volunteer it freely. Dread creeping along his neck, Zuko asked, “How did he prove that?”

“He killed that omega,” said Admiral Shu. “Cooked him alive without so much as a ‘Sorry things turned out this way.’”

Zuko flinched. He almost expected the old man to laugh at his fear, but Shu only studied his face.

“I thought your man was just an idiot seduced by a savage, and that his quickness to rectify the situation saved face. To his credit, he never did anything else that would threaten my authority. But as the years have passed, I’ve thought back to that incident, and I’ve wondered if your husband’s intent was more treasonous than I realized. You know that both of the ship’s engineers insisted they hadn’t been involved? We found hides, other water tribe trappings in their personal effects. They _insisted_ they had no idea where it all came from, but it was hard evidence, so we doled out judgement. Maybe we had it all wrong. Who knows? All I know is that Zhao eliminated the only person who could have implicated him if he was, in fact, involved.”

They sat in silence a while. Zuko kept his eyes trained on the table, trying to make sense of everything he’d been told. He tried to picture this other omega in his mind’s eye, a Water Tribe man with yellow eyes. What had this person been like? A man harboring such hatred towards the Fire Nation, such pain, who was nevertheless willing to sleep with a soldier. And to be _intimate_ enough that there had been romantic rumors abound. Zuko couldn’t fathom what qualities in his husband would draw the eye of a revolutionary sort, let alone someone with a waterbending lineage. Was it just sex, or had this person had a deeper connection with Zhao? 

And the matter of his murder. Surely a mission as dangerous as the assassination of an admiral came with the expectation of risk, but had it surprised that omega, when Zhao was the one to step forward with his hands ablaze? Or was it the only outcome he had ever seen coming? Zuko caught sight of Admiral Shu gesturing to someone out of the corner of his eye, and within a few minutes, a steaming cup of tea was set before him.

“You’re trying to scare me,” Zuko said, eventually. “You want me to think my husband will kill me someday.”

At that, Admiral Shu quirked one furry eyebrow. “That’s your takeaway? I meant more to imply that your husband is a treasonous rat. I don’t think his treatment of some savage would translate to a Fire Nation prince.”

Right. He and that water tribe omega could never be equals. Zuko’s safety was precious.

( _Stop fighting me._ )

“If treason is your angle, I don’t buy it,” said Zuko. “My husband is deeply loyal to our empire. He would never sympathize with members of a resistance.” As if his determination to invade the Northern Water Tribe wasn’t evidence enough of that. Zhao was thrilled to expand the Fire Nation’s reach; if anything, he wanted to be at the helm of their greatest victories and take credit for them.

Admiral Shu fixed Zuko with a leering smile. “And yet Zhao keeps stumbling into close quarters with people who commit treason. Which brings us back to Chameleon Bay. Does the name Jeong Jeong ring a bell for you?” 

The name meant nothing to Zuko. Admiral Shu elaborated. “That man was an anti-empire insurrectionist. You may not remember, but right before you met, Zhao killed this man and destroyed his base of operations. He got a medal for his troubles; the awards ceremony is where he met up with your father and first arranged your marriage.”

“I remember,” Zuko said. At least, he remembered Zhao was being honored for _something_ around the time they’d first been introduced. 

The old man nodded. “Before he deserted, Jeong Jeong was a private firebending tutor to several noble families, and then later a teacher in our own navy’s ranks. Zhao was a longtime student of his.”

Zuko blinked. “Oh.” Killing strangers was one thing. Killing someone you used to know… “That must have been painful, to do that to an old teacher.”

“Not particularly,” Admiral Shu said, dryly. “Maybe Zhao was brimming with turmoil on the inside, but on the outside, he was downright gleeful about it. Terribly eager to prove his loyalty to the Fire Nation by disposing of that embarrassing mark on his past. He acted without hesitation. Really, without giving us the chance to chat with old JJ and figure out where the rest of his resistance buddies were.” Admiral Shu paused pointedly here, inspecting his nails while he waited for the young prince to digest this information. It was obvious what he _wanted_ Zuko to think, but - Zhao, in league with rebels? He couldn’t see it.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” Zuko said after some time. “You’ve given me a lot to think on.”

* * *

Zuko returned to the palace with his heart in his throat. It seemed ironic to feel frightened while seated in his highly protected carriage, passing through the enormous ramparts at the front gate of the palace. Yet he was. His skin prickled with anticipation, a warning thrum that had been placed in his DNA by ancestors eons ago.

When he stepped out of the dark carriage into the sunlight outside the Lesser Hall, the thrum only seemed to get worse. His veins were hot, like his blood was boiling, and again his inner fire begged to be let loose. Fire was life, fire was protection, and he had to obey its call, or he would lose to his anxieties, perhaps burning himself again.

Zuko hesitated only a moment before deciding on the reception room. Once inside, he paused in its center, eyes tracing the hearth. There burned two miserable memories: when Aloki had humiliated him upon their first meeting, and when Zhao had promised to leave him for the North Pole. After a pause, Zuko shrugged off his cloak, then the outer layer of his robe. He had elected to wear a wide-legged pair of hakama under his robes, and was now grateful for the choice. Once free of the trappings of an omega, he ran through some basic kata, his movements slow and awkward. He felt like he was learning the stances for the first time. 

_Focus_ , he told himself. _Breathe._

(And if that inner voice sounded like Iroh, well. It couldn’t be helped. His uncle was his longest bending teacher.)

Zuko imagined that fire roiling inside him and unspooled it, sending it throughout his limbs in a steady current. He’d never been that good with chi work, solely because he had trouble telling when he had a handle on it and when he simply imagined he did. Yet as he continued on, his movements became more confident. He dug deep into the muscle memory, kicking and thrusting at the air until he finally felt he had the control necessary to produce a flame without burning the room down.

The arc of fire he sent whirling over his head was precise, burning out in the air inches shy of a bannister. He smiled, heart pounding at the thought of what could’ve happened if it had been just an inch out of his control. Then he tried another kick, and another. It felt good. It felt natural.

There was a knock at the door, and thankfully he wasn’t mid-kick at the time, or he might have set the wall alight. He stayed frozen in his stance, heart thumping. Whoever was out there must have seen the fire light through the thin rice paper. When a second knock came, he stood up straight, and went to answer the door.

A guard stood on the other side. He was a beta around Zhao’s age, perhaps older, with a thick beard and a wide nose. His expression was puzzled. “Prince Zuko. I heard thumping and wanted to make sure you were okay.” His eyes roamed downward, taking in his naked torso, then jerked back up, averting his gaze. “Apologies - I’ve encroached on your privacy. I’ll leave you to it.”

“No, wait,” Zuko said, grabbing him by the elbow. The guard stiffened under his touch; the bridge of Zuko’s authority as royalty seemed an impossible length to cross, yet he suddenly wanted to more than anything else. “Please spar with me. It’s been so long since I’ve had anyone to practice with.” 

Zuko realized too late it was an admission of guilt; he and his uncle had been careful to hide their nighttime practice even from the household staff. There was a look of deep discomfort on the guard’s face as he said, “Prince Zuko, I really should get back to my post…”

“Please,” Zuko said again, stepping close. This man knew his secret; he might as well commit. “Surely one missing guard isn’t the end of the world. You’ve got one less person to protect, now that Uncle’s in the Earth Kingdom.”

“We’re actually a bit under-staffed,” the guard admitted. “We’ve had a lot of turnover lately, due to…” He stopped himself. “It isn’t important why. Really, I must be going.”

Zuko released his grip on the guard. In the beta’s eyes, he could see his crestfallen expression reflected back at him. 

Instead of turning away as he’d said, the guard heaved a great sigh. “Alright, my prince. I’ll spar with you. Only for a little while, though.”

Zuko perked up immediately. “Yes! I won’t keep you long. Ten minutes, tops.”

Because the guard wasn’t a bender, they settled on a fire-free spar. No matter; Zuko was itching for some question-and-answer, the challenge of meeting another person’s movements. They started slow in a series of punches, kicks and blocks that felt more like they were practicing a choreographed dance than anything. Then they picked up the pace as they grew more comfortable with one another’s fighting styles.

Zuko suspected the guard was going fairly easy on him, but after he once managed to get the older man pinned to the tatami mat, he seemed to hold back less, the wariness in his gaze falling away to an eager smile that mirrored Zuko’s own. 

“You learn quickly, Prince Zuko,” the guard praised him. “I feel as though you already know what I’m going to do next.”

They were having innocent fun, those barriers of class and status falling into the background unnoticed. They should have known it couldn’t last. It was as they were locked into close combat, a feverish series of punches that nearly had Zuko backed into a wall when they were interrupted by a clearing throat.

Zhao stood on the threshold of the reception room, one hand on the doorframe, the bulk of him blocking the exit. He didn’t look angry - he was smiling at them, in fact - but there was a bemusement glinting in his eyes that made the air in the room suddenly uneasy.

Upon seeing him, Zuko and the guard froze still, like children caught breaking the rules. Zhao showed his teeth. “By all means, don’t stop because I’m here. I was enjoying the show.”

The guard dropped his arms to his sides, posture going erect. “I’m sorry, Prince Zhao. Prince Zuko asked me to practice with him.”

“Nice deflection,” said Zhao. “Blaming my spouse.”

“Sir, I-”

“You can leave,” said Zhao. Then, as if seeing further objections waiting to fall over those trembling lips, he added one more command, spoken in a low, threatening voice. “ _Now_.”

The guard bowed then made his jerky exit, picking up his staff where he’d left it propped up against a wall. He flinched as he got close to the door, what with Zhao blocking it, but the other man stepped out of the way so he could leave.

Then it was just Zhao and Zuko. The younger man resisted the urge to cross his arms over his naked chest. 

Zhao took a step inside the room. Zuko had to suppress a flinch as he closed it behind him. Then another as Zhao took a step towards him. His approach seemed to take an eon, each thud of a booted foot on the tatami mat echoing in Zuko’s ears. When Zhao was only a stride away, he said, “If you wanted a sparring partner, you should’ve asked me.”

Zuko wetted his lips. “I didn’t think you’d approve, after our self-defense discussion.”

“Nonsense,” said Zhao. “I’d rather you get what you need from me than find it outside our marriage.”

He came to stand only inches away, close enough to feel that towering difference in height. Zuko’s eyes flickered over the military armour. Zhao followed his gaze, then reached down to unlace his chest guard. When this was free, he hoisted it over his head and to the ground with a clatter, close enough to Zuko’s foot he was forced to hop away or be hit. Zhao unlaced the shoulder pads, next, then the thigh guards, until finally he stood in equal bearing to Zuko, shirtless and barefoot, clad only in his trousers. He could likely feel his husband’s eyes tracing the well-defined chest and broad shoulders - no way to remove those. He smirked down at his slight partner, then slid into a fighting stance.

“Come on,” he said. “Give me everything you’ve got.”

Another pregnant pause. Then Zuko swung at him with uncertain force. 

Zhao blocked his punch, pushing his hand as easily away as if it were weightless. In one movement, Zuko used the momentum from Zhao’s block to slide backwards, before aiming with an upward fist at Zhao’s exposed abdomen. This, too, he blocked, pushing the younger man backwards so he had to center his balance to remain standing. 

The spar was on. Zuko didn’t get the sense Zhao was holding back the way the guard had been. He would be impressed with his own ability to keep up with a trained officer, if not for the fact that the prickling sensation was back, every block and impact of skin to skin feeling less gentle than the last. It was a spar for now, but the energy of a full-fledged fight was waiting there, beneath the surface, so that Zuko’s dodging became more frantic. He was lost in the rhythm of moving arms, bracing himself for a hit that would come at full force.

In the end, the arm work was all a distraction. Zhao’s body dipped to the side as he swept the younger man’s legs out from underneath him. Zuko stumbled backwards and fell to his ass with a bruising force. He didn’t have time to recover as the sheer bulk of Zhao followed him to the floor. Like a predator on the hunt, he knocked Zuko flat on his back, pinning him by his wrists to the mat as he hunkered down between the younger man’s legs. 

Zuko lay trembling beneath Zhao. He didn’t resist the grip on his wrists, afraid if he did that Zhao wouldn’t yield in the slightest. He kept his eyes trained on Zhao’s neck so he didn’t have to meet his gaze, to see those hungry eyes locked on his face. He was panting above Zuko, but steadily, as from a good workout. Not the panicked fluttering of a rabbit-fox in flight.

“I don’t think a little sparring match with a guard is all you’ve been hiding from me,” Zhao said. “You’ve been cagey lately. Secretive.”

The hands on his wrists tightened their grip. Zuko felt like they were wrapped around his lungs. He wondered what Zhao would do to him if he found out about the suppressants. In his mind’s eye, he saw blood spattered on white bed sheets. Blood spattered on a tatami mat. 

“I saw Admiral Shu today,” Zuko gasped out.

Zhao’s look was one of total confusion. “What?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to talk to him, but he cornered me in the marketplace,” Zuko insisted. 

Zhao clearly hadn’t expected this at all. “What in the hell did he want with _you?”_

“I - I think he wanted to frighten me,” Zuko said, honestly. “He told me things about you. About your time in the Southern Water Tribe.”

Fury rushed into Zhao’s face. Zuko was sure he was on the verge of screaming or lashing out at him, and his entire body tensed in anticipation.

“Just what I fucking need,” Zhao swore. “ _More_ old men meddling in my marriage.”

To Zuko’s surprise, his husband rolled off of him altogether. Zhao sat on the floor with legs splayed, rubbing his face as if he could massage the exasperation from it. Cautiously, Zuko sat up beside him.

“Alright,” Zhao sighed, dragging his hands down his face. “Tell me the damage. What was the big, bad secret, this time?”

Zuko hesitated. The tone had changed so quickly, he was having a hard time keeping up. “Admiral Shu said that an omega you were… entangled with at the time tried to kill him. That there were some questions left over about how he got onto the ship and disabled the engine in the first place.” He resisted the urge to swallow. “And that you killed the omega.”

Zhao’s expression was carefully blank. His eyes were roaming Zuko’s face, perhaps looking for a cue on how to react. Eventually, he gave a half-hearted shrug.

“So he told you a story where I killed a terrorist? I don’t see the point in that.” 

No. That wasn’t all. Zhao’s nonchalance didn’t make any sense; Admiral Shu was insulting his honor by implying he would act out against the throne. He should be furious. Zuko steeled himself for such a reaction. “Admiral Shu seemed to be implying it was a mutiny. And that you were responsible.”

There was no fury to meet. In even tones, Zhao asked, “Then why did he let me go? Why work with me for so many years afterwards?” 

Something about Zhao seemed stiff. In his faux-relaxed pose, with his hands on his knees, he wasn’t moving a single muscle. Not a twitch.

“He told me another story,” Zuko tried. “About your former bending teacher. How he was an insurgent in Chameleon Bay.”

“Yes. As I recall, I killed him, too.” Zhao chewed the inside of his cheek. “Admiral Shu told you _two_ stories where I was so dedicated to my mission, so _loyal_ to the crown that I’d rather kill somebody I knew than risk losing that?” He scoffed. “He must really not be all that mad at me.”

There was something wrong here. The path Zuko walked on kept twisting under his feet, but who had warped it? Was it Admiral Shu, taking a harmless story and adding suspicion to it? Or was it Zhao, taking a damning implication and polishing it into a tale of patriotism?

“So you’d kill anyone for the crown?” Zuko asked. 

“I’d kill my own brother, if the Fire Lord told me to,” Zhao sniffed.

“Would you kill me?” Zuko asked.

Zhao’s lips split into an ugly smile. “Yes. But I’d mourn you more.” He laughed, then, the sound percussive and unnatural. “Why? Are you planning to commit treason?”

“No,” Zuko said, impressed when his voice didn’t tremble, then unsure why it ever would. “Never.”

“No. I suppose you wouldn't have to resort to that.” Zhao’s gaze flickered downward. Zuko realized it was aimed at his stomach. 

Something clicked. Shu wouldn’t have approached Zuko if it wasn’t bad. Zhao wouldn’t be so calm right now if it wasn’t bad. So maybe everything he’d learned today was true. But if it wasn’t anti-empire - because knowing Zhao, it simply _couldn’t_ be - then what was it?

And then Zuko remembered what Zhao had said about the moon spirit. Namely, the man who would slay him.

Zuko had seen the truth bent in all directions that day. Now, he found himself trying to copy his opponent. To make a twist of his own. He slid closer to Zhao on the floor, so their legs were flush.

“I’m sorry, Zhao,” Zuko whispered. “I was scared to tell you I saw Shu today, because I didn’t want you to think I sought him out. I’ve disappointed you so much lately. I couldn’t bear to shake your faith in me again.” He laid his hands over Zhao’s. “You were right, of course. That man’s not fit to be a leader in any form, especially not if he’s going behind your back like this. I won’t believe a word he says, if you tell me not to.”

Zhao’s fingers entwined with his. “Think nothing of it. The world is full of jealous, petty losers like him. I’ll ensure he never harasses you again.”

“Thank you,” Zuko said. “You’re always protecting me.”

Zhao seemed to hesitate. “The stories he told you _are_ true,” he admitted. “But that stuff he tried to imply about me… I’d never consort with rebels. You know me.”

“I do,” Zuko agreed. “You’d never be taken in by any sort of anti-empire nonsense.”

“Exactly. If _anything_ , I’m ruthlessly devoted.”

Ruthless. Yes, that was an accurate assessment, for once. Zuko lifted their clasped hands, brought them over his heart.

“I know you’d do anything for your Fire Lord, Zhao. It’s why you braved the Wan Shi Tong, and it’s why you came up with that plan for the moon spirit. I see it so much more clearly, now.”

“Have you changed your mind about the Northern Water Tribe? I have your blessing?” Without even noticing, Zhao seemed to surge towards him until they were leaning close together, faces inches apart. Their breaths mingled, and Zuko was careful to back off a little as he smiled at Zhao; no use in letting this get distracted.

“Of course,” said Zuko. “It’s a noble sacrifice.”

Zhao’s gaze shifted. “What do you mean?”

Zuko gave him an innocent look. “This act would cement my father’s reign in the history books. He’d be forever known as the Fire Lord who darkened the moon.”

Zhao frowned. “It would happen _during_ his reign. But I would do it.”

He sounded uncertain. Zuko pushed his hesitation aside and said, “Right. But when you think of who eradicated the airbenders, do you remember the generals who stormed the air fortresses, or do you remember Sozin?”

Zhao’s eyes narrowed. “We remember a few. There was - there was Qi, in the battle of the western temple.”

Zuko watched his face patiently. “And the others?”

“There were others. It’s been some time since I was in school. I’m sure you’d remember better than I would.”

Zuko shook his head. “I thought _you_ would know better, being in the military.” He paused. “The average layperson wouldn’t, I don’t think.”

“That-” Zhao stopped. “There’s more to history than Fire Lords.”

His hand twitched in Zuko’s grasp. The young prince kissed it, trying to calm the stuttering fingers. “You’ve held onto this secret about the moon spirit for many years. Have you considered holding onto it a little longer? Not forever, of course. But for a better time.”

A bark of a laugh. “What could be a better time than using it to disable a whole _army_ of waterbending combatants?” Zhao asked.

Zuko met his gaze. “Maybe you should save it for when there’s another Fire Lord on the throne.”

Then he took their clasped hands and laid them, flat, over his bare stomach.

For a while, all Zhao could do was stammer. Zuko had never managed to catch him so off-guard. 

“You’re manipulating me,” Zhao said, when he had recovered. “This is another trick to get me to stay.”

“And what if it is?” Zuko asked, eyes narrowed. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you’re fine with my father reaping all the benefits of your victory!”

When he looked into Zhao’s eyes, he saw a complicated storm of emotions. For once, he’d managed to say all the right things; Zuko was almost giddy with the realization that, after so much clumsiness, after being forever wrong, he was finally _talking_ his way into something he wanted.

Although reluctant to give way when he was so close to victory, he knew he couldn’t push too hard all at once. So Zuko said, “You don’t have to give me an answer now. But I want you to seriously _consider_ it. Save the chance to slay the moon spirit for another Fire Lord. Send someone else to the North Pole in your place. And stay here, in Caldera. With your family.”

Here, he pressed their clasped hands over his heart.

“I.” Zhao swallowed. “I’ll think about it.”

* * *

Later that night, Zuko hid the last of his suppressants away in the desk drawer under his prayer beads. He wouldn’t be needing them anymore. 

Zhao hadn’t said yes to Zuko’s plan, yet. But given the way he had fucked him afterwards, languid and slow, spilling inside him on the same floor where he’d only days before promised to leave, Zuko was sure he was thinking seriously about his idea. Funny how just a few days ago, pregnancy had seemed like an obstacle, when now he was sure it was the only path forward. He had to make real the possibility of their ascent to power. The only way to do that was with an heir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sparring scenes are always so sexy and flirty in zukka fics............................ :'(


End file.
